From Shadows to Stars
by Scarlettpeony
Summary: While Dimitri holds down the fort in Fhirdiad, the Archbishop-Queen Byleth is leading push back against those who slither in the dark and bolstering her armies is Fódlan's most dependable ally, the King of Almyra. Yet unbeknownst to all, Claude is also Byleth's lover.
1. Prelude to the Darkness

**Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.**

**Be advised that the central plot of this story focuses on adultery. I completely respect that this is not for everyone. If you find any of these subject matters uncomfortable or upsetting please don't read.**

**Edit(s)**

*** [14/Jun/2020] Tweaked a few errors in the chronology of the story.**  
*** [11/Oct/2020] Major overhaul with new content added to 'Prelude to the Darkness' plus a map of the surrounding area.**

* * *

**Prelude to the Darkness**

It would have been naive to think that defeating Edelgard would ensure a generation of peace. Byleth had known this at the back of her mind even as she and Dimitri had walked from that throne room, the blood of the emperor's pierced heart still dripping from Areadbhar. That was why she had been so determined that Dimitri did not look back - he had to keep walking forward.

One enemy had been vanquished, but there would be other trials and tribulations before Dimitri would be settled on the throne: internal struggles, rebellions and uprisings from both former imperial and Alliance territories; external threats from the frigid Sreng region to the mysterious western continent of Dagda; and unquestionably new enemies never before encountered would crop-up, bringing with them new dangers Byleth hadn't even considered yet.

It was the way of the world. Human nature would always ensure conflict somewhere, and all they could do was face it head-on.

Dimitri had accepted this fact with a tinge of sorrow. Yet he believed this would be his redemption, his means to make amends for the countless lives he ruined during the Five-Year War of Fódlan. Darkness might have consumed him, but thanks in no small part to the sacrifices of those who believed in him, he had been saved. Though he was haunted by voices crying for vengeance, instead of giving himself over to their demands with blood, he hoped to appease them by writing the wrongs of the past, by making their deaths count for something.

Dimitri would make it his calling to rebuild the realm from the bottom up, rather than top-down.

"That, I believe, was **her **mistake," he had told the packed Church at his coronation, after Byleth - as archbishop - had placed the crown on his head. "The Adrestian emperor erroneously antagonised the Church and targetted people's faith. She sought to flatten the cultures of Faerghus and Leicester to become the sole hegemony of Fódlan and enforce the changes she desired without opposition. Without allowing the people to choose their faith over her ideals."

He seldom called Edelgard by name anymore, as though to do so would give her ghost power.

"I assure you all that I will not be so arrogant as to presume I know what's best for every barony. I will rely on others to educate me on every corner of my realm."

Determined to leave the kingdom a better place than when he found it, Dimitri would rebuild from the ground up - and Byleth wanted nothing more than to help him see it through.

She had a limited understanding of her feelings, but she felt so strongly about the mission that she believed this had to be what her father had meant when he left her mother's ring to her.

His voice still resounded in her mind:

One day I hope you love someone as well as I loved her.

And honestly, Byleth loved all of her students dearly: sweet Ashe, prickly Felix, gentle Dedue, kind Mercedes, cheerful Annette, genteel Flayn, sensible Ingrid and flippant Sylvain. Then there were the others who had joined their ranks from the wistful Dorothea to the conscientious Ignatz; from friendly Hilda to wise little Lysithea. Bold Leonie, who had admired her father Jeralt so highly she almost came to look upon Byleth as an elder sister. The fastidious Lorenz whom Byleth had pulled to his feet after he lay defeated at the Great Bridge of Myrddin; he fell an enemy but arose a friend once more.

She still loved the ones she could not save: bright Petra, naive Ferdinand and shy Bernadetta, the sight of their broken bodies haunting her to this day. Linhardt, Caspar, Raphael and Marianne, none of whom she had seen in years and feared the worst for. Even Edelgard and Hubert lingered in her mind - though neither had been easy to love.

Well and truly, she adored them all. Each had needed her at one time or another - but above them all, Dimitri needed her the most. Above them all, Dimitri adored her the most. That was why she had accepted his proposal of marriage.

On the Twentieth Day of the Horsebow Moon, the Year 1186, Byleth's twenty- somethingth birthday, King Dimitri took her as his wife. An incredibly beneficial marriage by all accounts.

Dimitri's heart longed for decentralisation of power that would allow the commoners, the burgess, civil parishes and districts, to have a more significant say in the governance of the countries and duchies within which they resided. However, there was no denying that to give away too much power to others would undermine his position in the long run. The key to survival was to be fair yet threatening.

This was where Byleth's position came in. After all - it was she who had crowned Dimitri.

Her perceived divinity was vital for many reasons. From the founding of the Adrestian Empire, it was believed that the emperor's power was derived from the Goddess herself through Seiros, Her representative on Earth. Then, when Loog the 'King of Lions' had won independence for Faerghus, it had been the archbishop who acknowledged the new Kingdom and blessed it within the eyes of the Goddess.

Rhea had made no secret of her belief to the apostolic conclave that Byleth was nothing short of a holy avatar of the Goddess-on-Earth akin to, if not greater than, Seiros. This made her consecration as archbishop before the College of Cardinals for the Church a reasonably smooth affair. From there, the cardinals dispatched their 'little birds' to spread the words down the clerical foodchain that the faith was in good hands.

After all, it was important for the commoners to view Byleth as the undisputed spiritual leader of Fódlan and for the nobility to perceive her as one with supreme authority on Earth.

Archbishops were by nature conduits for the Goddess, or so Byleth learned through Seteth's instruction. When Loog, the King of Lions, had won independence from the Empire, his recognition by the Church had provided significant weight to his legitimacy. Now, it was through Byleth that Dimitri was crowned the undisputed King within Fódlan.

He was the Saviour King, anointed by the Divine Byleth - and they were married, joining Church and State as one. To the outside world, Byleth would be the Seiros to Dimitri's Wilhelm in the founding of a new realm.

Some questioned whether an Archbishop could marry at all, let alone wed a monarch, though, the cardinals had conveniently deemed it permittable. There was no order within the sacred scriptures of the Church against an Archbishop marrying, and many saw it as a highly desirable match given the exceptional circumstances following the war.

Their main concern had been drawing the lines of power. It was understood that as queen-consort and archbishop, Byleth's duties would overlap - but they were ultimately separate. There were no privileges to be made for the consort of an archbishop. Her title was not hereditary nor subject to dynastic struggles. Dimitri's power began and ended with Faerghus. In other words, Byleth wore two-hats: the episcopal tiara of the Church and the queenly circlet of Faerghus, while Dimitri wore a single, clear crown.

Of all the regions within Fódlan, the aptly titled Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was by far the most religious and beholden to the Church. So, Byleth's position as the latter likely outweighed her role as consort to their king. In some ways, she suspected that it thrilled them to know their very own Saviour King was one step away from the divine.

It seemed perfect.

Too perfect.

But whatever doubts Byleth already had she ignored, and busied herself with the task at hand.

Now he was king, Dimitri's main wish was to see through the ambition that had once been his father, the late King Lambert's. He sought not to be the absolute ruler of Fódlan but to open up the government to the commons and reduce the influence the Dukes had over the lesser-nobles and laity who answered to them. A large part of that was to change the way people thought about blood and crests.

"A man should be judged by the content of their character," Dimitri had announced to the first meeting of his Privy Council, "not by the crest they may or may not possess."

Many of the nobility had immediately pushed back, looking to the queen-consort/archbishop one for clarity.

"The Goddess loves all of her children," Byleth assured in her best 'Rhea' voice. "The time has come to cast aside these crutches such as crests and relics."

Sylvain and Ingrid swiftly became the pioneers of Dimitri's stance against 'crest supremacy'. Newly handfasted and keen to prove a point, both surrendered the Lance of Ruin and Luin to the Church, remarking that they would "use the same weapons as any other knight." That single act had struck a chord better than anything Dimitri or Byleth could have said.

By far, the Srengish of the north were the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus's most aggressive neighbours, and Sylvain was a greenhorn Margrave charged with defending the very marcher lands they bordered. All and sundry were convinced that Sylvain was a fool to surrender his family's prized possession, and awaited the day when he would beg Byleth for it back.

That day did not come.

Over a year, Sylvain's ability to deal with swarm attacks and raids from Sreng as quickly as they began without the Lance of Ruin gave some pause. Not much pause, though, as much to Sylvain and Ingrid's annoyance, people still attributed their success crests rather than their skills as a Margrave and Margravine.

But Sylvain was determined to put his money where his mouth was.

Shortly after their marriage, Ingrid fell pregnant with their child. Then, on the Twenty-seventh Day of the Garland Moon, the Year 1187, Conor Frederick Gautier was born healthy and utterly crest-less.

From the moment Conor was born, he had been the centre of his parent's world. They were swift to declare him as Sylvain's undisputed heir, regardless of whether they later had a child with a crest. Letters from them recounted every detail of his growth: his first laugh, babbles that might be words, first actual words, rolling over, standing up, walking and more.

Shortly before the new year celebrations, Byleth met the child for the first time.

Conor was an adorable little boy with a tuff of red hair, a musical giggle and a wonderful smile. So happy and merry - what did it matter if he didn't bear a crest? The sight of that sweet little toddler waddling around had been one for sore eyes, making Byleth's lips smile but her heart sting.

After all, it had been just over a year of marriage, but her womb was still very much empty.

Garreg Mach swiftly became as a respite from the Fhirdiad court for Byleth. Intrigue could be exciting, but as the months rolled on, she grew weary of the gossip being mainly about her.

Specifically, her not yet being pregnant despite Dimitri's 'valiant efforts'.

The act was nice enough, though ultimately, deep inside, she felt a dull ache within her chest; a sense of something lacking—something she frustratingly did not understand nor know how to express. Therefore, she stayed silent.

It was better to focus on the task at hand.

Discussing how change might be implemented had been 'fun' for Byleth and her former students. One vision Dimitri had, in particular, was replicate the Church of Seiros's military model and build a standing army of professional soldiers, rather than relying on lords to raise levies.

"Excellent idea, boar!" Felix commended, having officially taken-up his title as the Duke of Fraldraius and taking Annette as his Duchess. "We might actually get some half-decent soldiers if we do that instead of shoving peddlers and farmers onto the frontlines."

Byleth agreed.

Now she was the archbishop she found herself at the head of a large, imposing army, which Rhea had used to ensure any deviation from the teachings of Seiros would be quashed with ease. No doubt centralising the forces would benefit a king seeking to change civil affairs, too drastically.

Byleth knew none of this would be achieved without a fight.

This was a practical side to Dimitri's marriage to her - a slight against the King was now an attack on the Church and vice versa.

"A standing army won't only improve the quality of troops," Ingrid cited, taking the opportunity the new year's even reunion brought to sit in on the Council meeting. "It will allow commoners to develop something of a 'trade' in the army. They couldn't dream of holding such high rank in an army before. Unless they were part of a mercenary company or in the Church army, of course."

"Indeed," Dimitri nodded. "It is an ambitious plan, but the tides are turning in our favour. Fódlan is changing, and with it, our outlook."

It had made Byleth proud to see her student finally voicing the ideas he had once only spoken to her in confidence. The satisfaction she derived from his triumph in public was enough to distract her from the lack of physical passion she felt when they were in private.

"But let us push further discussions back until the new year," the king had decided then with a thin smile. " I have a feeling the year 1188 will be a turning point for us all."

A turning point, indeed.

Sure enough, a letter unexpectedly arrived from the great nation to the east, Almyra and penned by none other than the Shahzad, the Crown Prince himself.

Yes, on the thirty-first day of the Lone Moon, the last of the year 1187, Claude returned to their lives in the most unexpected way imaginable. And Byleth's chest swelled with a sensation she thought she would never feel again.

* * *

_Eighteenth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Hundreds upon hundreds of leagues from Fhirdiad, Byleth battled on the frontlines of a battle. She fighting an old enemy thought to have been vanquished, the mysterious mages of Edelgard who had fled during the siege of the Imperial Palace. They had seemingly returned to carry on the imperial fight despite the death of their ruler, using Caspar's elder brother, Jakob, Count of Bergliez, as their new figurehead.

They had crossed the Gwydion bridge, just downriver of Myrddin, and had laid waste to the small township on the Gloucester side of the Airmid, killing the Baron.

The betrayal of his deceased peer's sibling had enraged Dimitri - but Byleth had purposefully planned to combat the uprising in the south before a single word of the matter was spoken to Dimitri.

And she would achieve it without him.

He is not in the right state of mind to deal with Adrestia; she justified to herself. Dimitri had good months and bad months, but this year had been harsh overall. The tensions between Faerghus and Sreng, the public pressures of kingship clubbed together with their personal difficulties in producing an heir, had flung him into a 'sensitive' state.

This betrayal by Count Bergliez, aided by none other than the fiends who created Edelgard's monsters and abetted her most heinous acts, only added to Dimitri's growing temper.

Byleth knew the best course of action had been to occupy Dimitri with another task. She reasoned that her husband was better placed in Fhirdiad, aiding Sylvain against the northern menace, the Srengish Konunger Wilfrith, instead of coming south where his unguarded fury towards the remnants of Edelgard's faction might get him killed.

To spare Dimitri's pride he had told him and the Privy Council that, as archbishop and geographical neighbour to Gloucester, it made more sense for her armies and those of Leicester and its allies to handle the uprising in the south. She had been more than relieved when they agreed, and several months later, she felt the same despite her lack of military resources with Dimitri at home.

In fact, Byleth lacked her best people in general.

Hilda was in Gloucester nursing her newborn daughter, Susannah Geneviève, and managing the estate in Lorenz's place while he accompanied Byleth to war.

Dedue, these days more a steward and bodyguard than a general, had rightly remained with Dimitri.

In Gautier, Sylvain and Ingrid were naturally on the frontlines against Sreng, holding on as best they can so as not to call on their king for aid. Felix was assisting the pair while Annette was heavy with child and soon to enter her confinement. He had left her at Garreg Mach to await his return and the birth of their child.

Mercedes was at the monastery also, preparing for the birth and the influx of injured. Seteth had outright refused to allow Flayn to endanger herself in this particular skirmish, ordering her to remain with Mercie to await the wounded.

Byleth could not take any chances, so she had left Captain Alois to command the remained of her forces back at Garreg Mach with Ignatz and Hanneman. The former lead the left and the latter the right flanks. Shamir had left Fódlan a while ago while Manuela had not stepped on a battlefield for years, nor had Dorothea. Elsewhere, Yuri never left Abyss unless ordered to by Byleth - but she preferred knowing his ears were still close to the ground at home. He was always more a spy than a soldier, anyway.

Constance had long since left, returning to rule Nuvelle and doubtless on standby to provide aid to either Dimitri or Byleth should she be asked.

Hapi had been missing for a very long time, and Byleth had no idea where Balthus slunk off to either.

All that remained with Byleth were Ashe, Lorenz and Leonie as her commanders, though she thanked Sothis within her that she could always rely on Seteth, Cyril and Catherine as well. She kept Lysithea, close by as her skill with all forms of magic made her a vital adjacent for the archbishop-queen on the frontline. Together they had marched the Kingdom and Church platoons to meet the imperial dastards at Gwalchmai's Mouth.

Byleth had terrorised them upon the battlefield with her Sword of the Creator. Becoming the infamous Ashen Demon, she had mercilessly run then down with her battalion until their line had been broken, pushing the enemy back. Back, and around until they slammed into another army headed by Fódlan's most significant and closest ally: the newly crowned King of Almyra.

In truth, the only success of the year had been securing the treaty with him.

Claude had looked magnificent atop his glorious ivory-toned wyvern as he commanded his mounted Almyran archers to lay waste to the dark mages, while the Holy Kingdom's knights cut down their rear. Most of the enemy fled, scrambling over rocky hills soaked from earlier rainfall and their own blood; those that remained found themselves trapped in the pincer envisioned by the two greatest strategic minds of their day.

Or so everyone praised once the battle was over.

It had gone down as beautifully as it had when they had conceived the notion together a few nights before. Byleth's body lurched at the memory of the moment when she realised they could use those mountains and Claude's fliers to their advantage; then lurched again at the remembrance of his lips upon her neck and breath against her ear, praising her thinking.

Right now, she had to be the model of professionalism.

They needed to prepare for the clean-up and the next battle, which meant another strategy meeting. Byleth called her commanders in. Lorenz's arm was in a sling as he had sustained a burn to his shoulder. Ashe had a nasty cut above his right brow. Leonie and Lysithea were more or less unscathed, as too were Cyril and Seteth, though Ashe rather anxiously recounted how Catherine had taken a Bolting for him. She would be fine but was still receiving treatment.

Claude informed her then that most of his own commanders had sustained only minor injuries with the worst being Nader. He had dismounted to attack an enemy commander better, only to slip on a wet rock and gash his arm. The elder, burlier and proud man laughed it off, noting that he "still got the bastard, didn't I?" Looking at him now, Byleth could see that to him the injury was little more than an irritating scratch - though one that should probably be seen to.

"I thank you all," she began stoically, looking between her own men and the Almyrans. "Every single one of you secured this victory, and this turning point in our struggle against the Dark Mages of Edelgard."

"We must now pursue them with all haste," Claude added immediately. "Those who have sustained the worst injuries will be sent back behind the lines to Garreg Mach, and remain there to bolster our reserve once they recover. The archbishop has already made preparations to receive them. The rest of us will pursue the enemy. With any luck, this next battle will be the final, final one that ends it. Finally ."

Byleth knew it was all fluff - he knew as well as she did that there was no 'final' in war.

"We cannot allow them to regroup," he continued. "The archbishop and I will devise our next strategy tonight; at first light, we run them down."

The Almyrans (save for Cyril) cheered with the gusto one would expect of them. While many Fódleans might look upon their eastern neighbours as aggressive and belligerent, their seemingly unshakeable spirit in the face of death made them a vital asset. Though tensions had been initially high between her own Kingdom-Church forces and Claude's foreign army, they had ultimately helped to boost one another's war-weary morale. The quiet dignity of the Fódleans and the loud zeal of the Almyrans had made for a complementary match. "Put two enemies together and then point them at a bigger enemy - they'll quickly figure out how to play nice," was how Claude summed it up.

"We will hold another meeting this evening once we have ascertained the enemy's whereabouts," Byleth declared. "For now, rest and savour your achievements. We're back on the march tomorrow. Except for Seteth, Ashe and Cyril, you are dismissed."

Neither she nor Claude looked at one another as the commanders filed out, leaving only themselves, Seteth and the two younger men.

"Are you well enough to scout for us, Ashe?" she asked immediately.

"I am," he promised.

"I need you both to head in the direction the enemy retreated and find out where they went."

"You both know the drill," Claude nodded. "Try to get a good idea of the terrain. The archbishop and I can only do so much with a few scrawls on a map. You must let us know if there are any nasty surprises ahead."

The neighbouring sovereign king handed the younger Almyran a copy of the map.

Cyril bowed firmly, "You can count on us."

Seteth watched as the two young men departed from the tent before turning to his leader. "What did you need me for, Lady Byleth?"

"I need you to ensure that our wounded make it safely back to Garreg Mach and that our reserves have a clear path through should we require them," the archbishop-queen decreed.

The older man flinched, his scowl deepening the fine lines of age on his face. "I must leave you here alone?"

"I am not alone," she assured him with a tiny smile. "You know I am not... but I need someone who I completely trust to do this. You are a capable commander, more seasoned than anyone else I have back at the monastery. That's why it must be you. You will leave after the meeting tonight."

He concurred but certainly did not look happy.

"What about the king? Do you wish me to compose an update for him of our victory here today?"

Those were his two usual tasks: command of the church armies and writing Byleth's letters for her. She found herself glancing over to Claude to check how he felt about this. The mention of Dimitri had not phased him; he stood with his usual smile, the one that never reached his eyes. Realising that she wanted his opinion on whether updating Dimitri was wise at this point, he gave her a sideways nod of approval before she turned back to Seteth.

"Yes, if you would," she said finally. "Though allow me to read and add to it before it is sent. We must not be too hasty in resting on our laurels. Again, tonight."

Seteth bowed his head with a repeat of "tonight" before taking his leave of them. "Your Grace," he spoke to Byleth and, "Your Royal Highness," to Claude.

Their eyes watched as he departed and left them alone with several half-full wine cups and the large map spread before them. Byleth let out a deep sigh while Claude stretched his shoulders and neck before grabbing his own rather full cup to take a sip.

"What now, 'Your Grace'?"

She ignored his facetious tone, reaching for her own barely-touched drink as she leaned over the map and tried to take it in. "I hope they find something we can use."

"Ashe and Cyril are two of the most reliable lads you could have put on this task," he assured her. "If they don't notice anything, then our job here-" indicating the map with a pinky-finger, "-will be much simpler."

Byleth's own fingers drummed against paper and table.

"Where do they disappear to after the retreat?" she wondered aloud. "We've been at this for the last moon and have you ever encountered an enemy camp?"

"You've been wondering about that as well?"

He put the cup down and pointed to a particular spot. "When I was out there, those who made it out before we encircled them went this way. If they aren't going back to camp, perhaps they have a permanent settlement nearby?"

Byleth scowled at his finger. "The nearest village is some four- or five-leagues away. I suppose it's possible, but I know for a fact that a competent mercenary group is stationed there who would tell me if a single one of those dark mages reared their heads."

"Oh, would they?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "They are my father's company. I know us mercs have a reputation for selling to the highest bidder, but they wouldn't betray me, no matter the price."

Claude sniggered. "I bet they wouldn't dare."

She watched as he marked the village off with a token. Then, as his finger ran against the painted lines until it found her hand. Placing his palm above it and linking their digits together, he indicated the area around where the enemy had lumbered off to.

"With that in mind, we can presume then that they are heading no further than the village," their fingers came to rest in the valley that stretched from the battlesight to said token-shaped village. After a pause, Claude hummed with interest. "Notice anything interesting?"

Byleth tilted her head, making no move to retrieve her hand.

"The valley, the cliff-sides... there are a few caverns and grottos-"

She blinked and looked at him.

His dark-green eyes glimmered with the same realisation. "Exactly."

"They are using the cave systems?"

"Well, why not? It's a good a theory as any."

Biting her lip, she stared at the map and tried to identify all of the cave entrances that the cartographer had known. "Hiding in the pitch black," she spoke under her breath. "Perhaps they're hoping we'll pass them by. Then once we are far enough away from our vantage point, they'll appear right behind us."

"Hm," Claude mumbled uneasily, envisioning such a disastrous situation. His brow creased, and he tightened his grip on her hand, squeezing it gently. "I've read that a great network of caves exists beneath the earth, many of which are interconnected. You could probably enter one in Fódlan and come out in Almyra if you zig-zagged through one for long enough. Thinking on a smaller scale, some of these caves could also be connected, allowing these bastards to pop out wherever they want."

"But," Byleth interjected, "wouldn't we see the light from the caves? Surely they would need torches to get around?"

"I suppose." His arm encircled her torso, pulling her in towards his own body and provoking another sigh from her. "Though," he added, bringing his face closer to hers. "If they are deep enough within the cavern, we wouldn't see them... and as capable as I think Ashe and Cyril are I don't fancy sending them on a fact-finding mission to tell us for sure. Not if we ever want to get them back. Right now, I'll settle for it being a 'working hypothesis'."

He placed a kiss behind her ear.

"Behave yourself! We're supposed to be working."

"We are working," he snickered, giving the lobe a small nibble. Despite Byleth's words, she leaned back against him with a pleased hum. "I think we're making excellent progress."

She might have just melted there and then... but she still tried to maintain some semblance of resistance. She smiled despite herself. "Oh, and you think you deserve a break already? You've always sought rewards for even the most minimal of efforts, even at school."

"I can't help if I've always responded best to the positive reinforcement of my favourite Teach." His free hand made its way up her body, brushing over her bare abdomen. The sensation made her shiver.

"Some might call it vain."

He snorted. "You're only now figuring this out about me?!"

The wandering hand found the way to the top of her corset before beginning to delve inwards, caressing a mound - then pinching a nipple. At this she bulked, speaking in a harsh, frantic whisper.

"Stop! Someone might walk in."

"They won't," he assured her. "I left instructions we were not to be interrupted until the official meeting tonight. 'We can't strategise if people keep distracting and obstructing our thought processes,' so I said."

"...and this isn't supposed to be distracting?"

"No, it's supposed to get you in the mood."

He began to kiss her neck.

"People might hear..."

"Then you better keep it down."

"Claude!"

At that, he groaned in an almost-comedic frustration and spun her around. Ironically, he looked much firmer and steadfast, in stark contrast to the fragility Byleth felt gathering in her limbs. She was grateful for his hands on her forearms lest she was to collapse into a puddle on the floor. They were face to face for the first time that day, since the last time they were together like this.

"They didn't catch us last night," he contested. "Nor the day before that, nor the one before that. Or that time in the forest - now that was risky of you! Even I was impressed. Not to mention the very first time, all the way back at the Officers Academy-"

"Claude."

"When we finally -!"

"Just stop!"

Her hiss almost crossed the line of a whisper into dangerously loud.

With a heavy exhale, his shoulders dropped. Taking a step back, he lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine. If you don't want to, that's fine. Let's reconvene in ten minutes - no, let's make it fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. I just need to- ahem, sort myself out, so to speak."

Byleth stumbled backwards into the table, gripping the edges for support. She felt so weak, as though her bones had lost all-purpose. He had such power over her; it drove her insane. Taking deep breaths, she stared into space for a few seconds before she dared to look at him again. He expected her to provide her approval of his "plan".

Instead, she closed her eyes and said:

"I didn't say 'no'; I said, not here."

It took her another moment before she felt capable enough to stand straight, take his hand and lead him beyond a partition, into a small makeshift study. Amidst the stacks of books, piles of papers and rolls of maps there was a small desk and an ordinary chair set against it with a modest, well-worn cushion atop it. Then, to the side of that was a cot.

They were Byleth's official quarters, which were somewhat grander and befitting an archbishop-queen. Due to Byleth's habit of staying up late to fiddle about with her plans, write non-Seteth approved letters or simply read, the cot was handy for comfort and cold nights when she felt too tired to walk back to her own tent. She had lived as a commoner most of her life, so in some ways, this set-up felt more 'her'.

Placing the partition back across, Byleth turned around and enveloped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

The sound it induced from him was a sigh that was nothing short of utter relief. Claude placed his hands on her back and tilted her sideways, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Accepting him with an approving moan, she arched her back as far forward against him as she could, offering herself to him. As she most certainly would again and again before this war was over.

Shortly after, she finally broke the kiss.

Tenderly her hands found his, linking their fingers together as he had done earlier. As their eyes met once again, she smiled and slowly led him towards the cot.

"We shouldn't be too long," she whispered reluctantly, beginning to disrobe before laying back. "Someone could still walk in and hear."

He stifled a chuckle, mumbling, "quick and quiet, gotchya!" under his breath, as he moved to loosen his sash, the anticipation making her shiver. She only felt warm again once he finally freed himself from his ornate garbs and propped himself above her. Her body was buzzing; blood scorching; pulse-pounding. If her heart was beating, she was sure it would have skipped too. She writhed as she felt him brushing against her, cursing him for teasing her like this, like always.

"Please," she rasped. "I want you."

This time he didn't make her wait. He smothered her mouth with his own to catch the whimpers that escaped her throat as he took her, and then kissed her some more as they began to make love.

Through the haze of pleasure and joy, Byleth locked herself around him with her arms and legs, as if to clutch him was to cling to life itself. His lips smirked with approval of her edacity as he sank deeper and deeper with each focused thrust, provoking more mewls of euphoria from her.

"I love it when you hold me like this," he purred, slowing his pace some, "...when you make these amazing sounds for me..."

"...please, don't stop ."

The strangled laugh that escaped him reverberated through her.

She knew it was wrong that she should feel guilty for this. She was married, an archbishop and the queen-consort. Yet any regret she ever felt was repressed by how right being with Claude felt. It was like she had found the other part of herself. He had a stupid bookend analogy to describe it: "We might have a lot of distance between us, but we belong together." He could have likened their passion, their love, their tragic affair to anything but - bookends? She supposed she understood the sentiment. They were apart more than they were side-by-side. Yet they were as one, and whether abed or planning their next course of action in battle, Claude made her feel complete.

It seemed ironic because of all her students - from the Blue Lions to the Black Eagles and his own Golden Deers - Claude was ultimately the one who had needed her the least. During the Five Year War, he had held the Alliance against Edelgard. After that, he had travelled to many lands beyond the borders of Fódlan; united the warring petty princes of Almyra under his royal father; and then rose to take the crown himself with his father and his people's blessing. He had done all of that. Had she chosen to lead Edelgard's or Claude's class instead, would Dimitri have achieved so much without her? Or would he have been another broken body upon the field of Gronder, one of the many that she could still see in her mind's eye?

She closed her eyes as she felt herself growing closer to ecstasy.

Claude would still be here, though. She believed that no matter what. Even if they were enemies and her sword was the one hovering above his head, he would escape and live another day. He would always find a way to survive. Always find his way to her like this. Not because he needed her but because he wanted her.

Byleth keened. Claude muffled her cry, and his own, with one last heavy kiss. Her body quivered from her orgasm, the heat of his own release aglow deep inside her.

* * *

The evening seemed to come quickly.

After dinner, the commanders were called back into the war-tent to discuss the plans for the coming battle - and to receive Ashe and Cyril's report. As suspected, they had caught sight of some unusual activity at the lip to one of the cave entrances, feeding into Byleth and Claude's theory that the caves were serving as a shelter for the enemy. The only question was, how would they use this to their advantage?

Claude stated that it would be most useful if they could somehow draw them out under false pretences. Taking the tokens and markers for the map, he explained the plan - what his army would do, where the Kingdom-Church army would come in, how they might introduce the reserve if needed - and he pointed towards the village.

"The archbishop has allies stationed at the village; we have already sent word to them to stand ready to defend the settlement should it become a target."

"Jeralt's mercenaries!" Leonie gasped, eyes bright as she looked to Byleth.

The archbishop-queen just nodded and smiled, eyes settling back on Claude.

He was so animated, so thorough and so very much in control of the room - revealing nothing. Byleth hoped she gave off the same aura, lest everyone there - Fódlean and Almyran, young and old, and Seteth - suspect how "the two greatest strategic minds of their day" had spent half of their secret tactics-talk today enthralled in adulterous lovemaking.

* * *

**Translations of High Almyran words**

**shahzahd** (Simplified), or xsahzahde translates as 'Crown Prince' or heir of the King in the Fódlan language. It's semi-inspired by the real-world Persian name "Shahzad", which means son of the king. However, I will be using the term as gender-neutral, in keeping with the root word jata, which means "offspring" in Sanskrit. In High Almyran, "son of the king" is **shahsennu**, which refers to any blood (damu) male child of the king.

**Notes on Places**

**Gwydion** is a barony town on the Leicester side of the Airmid river, bordering Gloucester and Ordelia territories. The Baron of Gwydion is a minor lord sworn to House Gloucester and manage checkpoints for goods coming and going from Adrestia via the Bridge of Gwydion.

**Gwalchmai's Mouth** is the opening to the mountainous area, called the Gwalchmai Ravine, between Bergliez and Hrym territory.


	2. Beneath the Showers and Shadows

**Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.**

**Be advised that the central plot of this story focuses on adultery. I completely respect that this is not for everyone. If you find any of these subject matters uncomfortable or upsetting please don't read.**

**Edits: [18/June/2020] Tweaked a few chronological errors I made.**

* * *

**Beneath the Showers and Shadows**

_Nineteenth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Seteth obeyed Byleth's command and departed the camp, though not without one last mope. As she came out to bid him farewell the look of reluctance on his face was unmistakable. Equipping his wyvern for the relatively long journey back to Garreg Mach, he had turned to her with a plea in his eyes that she knew she would have to be resolute in the face of.

"Are you _absolutely _certain I should not stay with you, Lady Byleth?"

"Yes," was the firm response. "I told you before that I need someone to sure-up the monastery."

He grumbled.

"Couldn't Hanneman handle it? Or Ignatz? I just feel-"

"Ignatz and Hanneman are both capable," she conceded, before placing a hand on his shoulder. "You, on the other hand, are the closest thing there is to returning there myself."

"...And I suppose I can't convince you to do just that?" Seteth pushed lightly. "I could stay here with the Church forces and Claude-that is, His Royal Highness, to finish off this campaign."

Byleth shook her head.

Truth was that nothing short of news that Garreg Mach or Castle Blaiddyd were under siege would convince Byleth to leave the camp now.

_These strange people who crawl in the shadows are after me: I won't hide away, _she told herself. _Besides, no one can lead this army the way I do._

She was also not too proud to admit to herself that Claude was keeping her firmly anchored. If she were to leave now, she wouldn't see him again for the rest of the conflict. Though he might return to Garreg Mach with his forces once they had cleaned up the rest of the late Edelgard's troublesome band, the end of combat would signal all and sundry to descend upon her at the monastery. Including Dimitri.

"What kind of successor would I be to Rhea were I not willing to put myself on the battlefield?" she posed.

Seteth narrowed his eyes. "Rhea knew when to allow others to fight for her. Perhaps you might consider this as one of those times?"

_I will not_ _and nothing you can say will change my mind._

Still, she humoured him.

"I will keep you informed," Byleth promised. "Should the situation here become dire, I will withdraw to the monastery. However, I don't think it will come to that. I would never send _you _away if I felt I couldn't be without your help here..."

The next fight would likely be the last, for now. It was as good as won anyway. While Byleth hoped she wouldn't need the rest of her Church armies, she had to keep them poised and ready. If she _had_ miscalculated then Seteth was the best person to lead her reserve forces.

Patting his shoulder one last time, she finished her thought:

"There's no one else I can count on. I trust you more than anyone."

Seteth raised a curious eyebrow.

"Anyone? Even the king?"

Byleth managed to smile at that. "Dimitri is peerless as a warrior... but to be perfectly honest, I find myself wavering when it comes to his strategies and tactics. I have no such hesitations about you, Seteth."

That was the truth. It not only helped that Seteth had a cooler head than her husband - he was guaranteed to do as she said.

With Dimitri, it depended on his mood. He had always listened to her with the obedience of a well-trained puppy when he was but a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old student at the Officers Academy. He would complete every assignment, task and duty she gave him under her tutorship to the letter and to perfection, on time and without complaint.

But that sweet little puppy was gone. Edelgard and the Five Year War had seen to that. It had picked open the wounds in Dimitri's soul, scars left by the Tragedy of Duscar, that he freely admitted would never fully heal. Thus, at times, it was a ravenous wolf whom Byleth had to contend with. A lone wolf at that, who charged his enemy as though they were the last goat on the mountain.

Seteth shook his head.

"I wasn't talking about _our _king, Your Grace."

She froze.

"Then you were... talking about—?"

"Claude, naturally," he said, brow creasing. "Unless you have some other king stashed away somewhere?"

"That's hardly a fair comparison," Byleth challenged. "You're my right-hand man in the Church while he is, well, a monarch with his own kingdom and interests."

"Indeed, and yet you put a lot of faith in his schemes despite him being a foreign ruler."

"I do," she confessed. "But..."

_I need to watch my words. _

It wouldn't be enough to point out that Claude, too, was an academy alumnus.

For as well-behaved as Dimitri had (mostly) been, Claude had been the definition of a 'troublemaker': always breaking curfew, sticking his nose into places where it didn't belong, challenging authority figures, asking too many difficult questions, and generally always 'interpreting' rules rather than following them. Byleth had never scolded him as much as Seteth would have liked as she had admired his gumption and ability to think outside the box.

She still did.

Taking another moment to consider how to respond, Byleth knew exactly what Seteth would want to hear.

"Well, perhaps that's another reason why I feel I must stay — it's the only way I can trust that the battle will go sufficiently considering our royal friend's 'schemes'. Whereas I know all will be well beneath your watchful eye."

It seemed to work as a smirk finally broke across Seteth's lips.

"I can tell you are trying to butter me up," he accused lightly, though the smile remained. "However, I must admit to enjoying the compliment. Very well, regardless of my feelings - and whether the ones you just expressed to me are remotely truthful - I will obey your command. I shall make ready and leave at first light."

"Good," Byleth nodded, inwardly sighing in relief. "Look at it this way, too - you'll get to see Flayn again that much sooner."

"Yes, that is a bright side I cannot ignore also."

Come the next morning, all of the commanders that remained had been due to meet for morning tea. They were to run through the overall housekeeping of the camp: supplies, weapons, provisions and any known problems they needed to consider before beginning the 'final' march.

It was a long and tedious task that Byleth was happy to let Lorenz take the lead on. If there was one thing he liked it was organising everyone else's life for them. Plus, he really was the best person with the other "organisers" indisposed: Gilbert (diligent and thorough) was retired, Annette (chaotic yet thorough) was just weeks away from her due date, and Hilda (a great lover of bossing people around and thorough) at home with the new baby. Then there was Seteth, who always wanted to control _everything_, which was precisely why Byleth always found other jobs for him to do.

_Like, command the army at home._

However, after carrying her map and notes from her quarters to the war-tent, she had found only Lorenz and Leonie in there. The former was talking the latter's ear off about a letter he had received from Hilda that detailed the _"unbelievably endearing thing"_ that Susie did the other day. She was an adorable baby, by all accounts.

_All the new babies were! _

Lorenz and Hilda's Susannah, Sylvain and Ingrid's Conor, and doubtless Annette and Felix's first child would be lovable, too.

It tugged warmly and painfully at Byleth's chest.

Her eyes fell on Leonie; she was usually happy to listen to updates about all of 'the little ones', yet she looked agitated. Not at Lorenz but something else.

"What's wrong?" Byleth queried, placing her items down. "Where is everyone?"

"Didn't you hear?" Leonie uttered, fiddling with a bowstring. "His Majesty, or Royal Excellency, or whatever Claude's title is supposed to be these days, postponed the meeting until noon."

Byleth immediately scowled.

"I didn't hear," she said through a clenched jaw. _He flippantly postponed the meeting without telling me?_

"Lousy, right?" the huntress sighed. "It's completely thrown off the schedule."

"Typical Claude! Utterly disrespectful to Her Grace here!" Lorenz agreed as he lamented over a fine china cup of lavender tea. "But truly, I do hope this war ends soon. I would like to bear witness to _some _of my daughter's growth. She is a paragon! The future of House Gloucester! This is a crucial time in her development... and I'm missing it!"

Leonie looked at him sympathetically. "She can't even hold her own head up, Lorenz! You'll be home long before she starts talking."

This certainly seemed to be more paternal paranoia about missing his daughter's "firsts" that was upsetting Lorenz, rather than any concern that the 'paragon' would lose her lustre at a mere 9-weeks-of-age unless he was there to apply the 'Gloucester polish'.

It was getting hard to listen to.

"Let me look for Claude," Byleth grumbled.

As she walked out, she bumped into Lysithea, whose eyes conveyed more meaning than words would have: _When you find Claude, kill him for me, too!_

Byleth turned heel to march off towards the Almyran side of the camp, her irritation increasing with each step.

On the way over, Ashe noticed her and began to trail after her.

"I heard the news, Your Grace!" he said hurriedly. "Would you like me to locate His Royal Highness in your stead? You can wait for him with the others in the—"

"Let me handle 'His Royal Highness'," was Byleth's curt response. "Just make sure everyone is there at noon, on the dot."

She stopped in her tracks and scolded herself in a voice that sounded like Sothis's;

_Don't snap at the poor boy - he's only trying to help!_

With that thought, she turned to the faithful young archer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Can you make sure word gets around to the others? I will bring Claude — though I can't promise he will be in one piece."

Once she reached Claude's quarters on the other side of the encampment, it made her more annoyed to find out where he had disappeared to instead of keeping to the plan.

"You look pretty when you're angry," Nader chuckled, seeming rather amused by the scowl on her forehead. He stopped smiling when Byleth continued to glare. "Ahem, pardon me, Your Grace. The King has gone with a couple of his guards to the lake."

"To... scope the surroundings?"

"Nah, to wash!"

With that, she dumped off her notes, grabbed her sword and made for the thicket nearby. She could have sworn the burly wyvern rider bowed his head and muttered, _"Nice knowing ya, kiddo but this little lady is on the war-path!" _as she left.

After storming down the coppice trail for long enough, she finally spotted the green-and-golden-clad sentries of the Royal Guard of Almyra.

She halted before them and folded her arms, eyes blank.

"I wish to speak with your king."

They looked at one another, perplexed.

"His Royal Highness is still..." one began, looking to his friend.

"...bathing," the other finished.

They probably expected the archbishop to blush and retreat with panic as they looked beyond bewildered when Byleth blinked and persisted.

"And _I_ still need to speak to him."

She must have been the image of the scary schoolmistress as the men seemed fidgety under her cold-stare. The tension was only cut by an echoed, distant yell that came from behind them.

"Let her pass. I'm decent enough to receive the archbishop."

Unable to refuse after their king's command, the two men stepped aside and Byleth passed them smoothly without another word.

To their minds, receiving a woman of the cloth, head of the church and queen-consort to the reigning king of the lands they all stood in, _"decent enough"_ would have meant breeches at the very least. They were unaware, of course, that Claude's idea of decency in front of Byleth had long passed the point of anything more than complete nakedness.

Passing between a brush of trees and then a little further down the hillside, she found the almighty King of Almyra washing his hair by the lakeside, wearing nothing but his earring - and a smile.

Byleth couldn't help but stop to take in the view: he was so incredibly handsome, toned and muscled with his dampened skin looking almost golden from the reflection of the sun. She had looked upon his form many times now but it pleased her to know there were still other... _angles_... to appreciate him from.

It almost made her forget that she was here to reprimand him.

"Enjoying the scenery?" he teased.

"Aren't you cold?" she retorted.

"You get used to it after a while. Try taking a dip. You look rather tense."

"Ashe reported that the enemy fled this way," she snapped at him. "Why are you risking your neck by washing in the lake?!"

"I have to get my kicks in life from somewhere, Your Grace," he responded with a casual shrug. At that he slipped into the water, Byleth watching as everything beneath his waist was submerged. He tucked his head under briefly to wash the suds from his hair before continuing his chatter.

"Besides, what better way to survey a landscape than breathing it, tasting it, living in it... and getting an idea of what it's like?"

Sniffing loudly, Byleth rested her hands on her hips. "So, you delayed our morning meeting... to take a bath?"

"I thought it would be an insult if I were to present myself to Her Grace, the archbishop-queen, covered in dust, sweat and the scent of my forbidden liaison the night before!"

"_Funny_," she muttered.

Sitting down upon the bank, she removed her boots before unhooking and rolling-off her patterned stockings. Slowly, teasingly. First one, then the other.

Claude stared with a barely contained leer as the delicate material was pulled from her creamy skin.

'She's putting on a show for me,' his smug expression said.

For a moment or two, he might've forgotten they were in what could be deemed an unsecured location. His guards were but half a mile away and enemies might be lurking nearby, yet despite all of that, he could feel the want pooling towards his loins.

She slipped her feet into the cool waters, unusually pleasant despite the brisk chill.

_Claude is right about it not being too bad_.

It had been a skewed year weather-wise. The last of the summer might have been dying all around them, but it was a slow death. What should have had the bite of early winter had been uncommonly warm. The once-green leaves were still transitioning to orange and red, floating one by one to a watery grave in the lake...

"The water is quite nice," she sighed before continuing her rebuke. "It was quite heartless of you to postpone the meeting without a bye or leave. Lorenz said it showed disrespect to me."

"That was the goal," he admitted. "I felt it best to err on the side of caution and keep them all guessing by needlessly aggravating you on a whim, after last night."

"Last night had been your idea."

"But doing it in the study was _your _idea," he said, before giving her a shameless smile. "That would suggest that it is once again _my _turn to select a venue, _hmmm_?"

Byleth motioned Claude over - and he obeyed with the swiftness of a fish.

"Congratulations, you 'aggravated' me."

"Now, let me make it up to you."

Carefully, he took one foot in his hands and he began to massage it.

Her eyes fluttered closed, skin leaping at his touch.

"If left up to you last night," Byleth said, "we'd have been making love over the damned map! And almost certainly have been caught."

He rejected that out of hand.

"I told you, I _always _take precautions to ensure we will not be discovered," he whispered, as he ran his tips along her arch. "Every moment we have is precious - and, frankly, I seldom enter a room without having already investigated whether an opportunity for intimacy might be found there. Even for just one, quick kiss."

He gave her foot one as if to make the point.

Her feelings were somersaulting between the frustrations of earlier: the bubbling lust of seeing him bathe, and the ardent love she felt in her crest-stone and blood at his words just now. Amidst all of that, and now his hardened digits upon her skin, her breath hitched in her throat.

"Your fingers are _rough..."_

He snorted despite himself, tracing his index finger up her calf, not looking up from his work. "I thought you loved that about them?"

She watched him, eyes hooded by her lashes.

"I do," she confessed in a shaky breath. "I _love... _how good they feel against my skin..." he placed another kiss upon her ankle, "...but, I love them best when they're..." she twiddled her toes delightedly, "..._inside _me."

He quickly extinguished the guttural groan that tried to escape his windpipe; the jolt of lust that shot through him had struck him so hard.

Taking a moment's recovery, he peeked up at her. "_Ahem_, o-oh, is that so?"

"_Hm-hmm_," she purred.

Byleth smiled, a little conceited in how her confession had wound him up. His voice was still a little strangled as he continued.

"Would you... like them..." he cleared his throat again, "...inside you _right now?_"

Her innards twisted as Claude's free hand came to rest upon her thigh, provisionally creeping up towards where the material of her clothing met open skin.

Yet, with an utterance of disappointment, she laid her hand atop his own to stop its dangerous journey towards her core.

"A little out in the open, don't you think? It's not like your guards are wearing earplugs."

"Oh, thee of little faith!" and he pointed to the other side of the lake. There beneath the shade of the weeping willows, Byleth spied a concave that looked to be an entrance. "See that grotto? I happened to notice it earlier and was immediately drawn in by the... possibilities."

Byleth cocked an eyebrow. _Oh really? You were _that _sure I would storm out here to find you?_

'Probably' was the answer.

"Pragmatically speaking," Claude went on, "If we're looking for an excuse to scope it out then, going on last night's theory, perhaps we'll find... evidence of the enemy there?"

As he turned around again, she tilted her head at him. "And just how am I supposed to get across there without getting my garbs soaked?"

"There's a submerged causeway, so we can cross without a boat or the need to swim. Though you shall have to strip down to your undershirt, fear not! I shall be a gentleman."

Then, he used his grip to tug her a little closer to him, "At least, as long as we are in earshot of others."

His touch and kisses were hot against her leg.

"I can't strip off my clothes when anyone could just come over that hill...!"

"Ah, yes, a dilemma if ever there was one!" he nodded sagely.

Despite the 'risk' of someone seeing them, he continued to tend to her feet - and she continued to let him.

"We _could _just take a leisurely stroll along the bank together if you wish," he offered. Using his free hand, he traced the shore of the lake for her, which snaked around for some distance before curving towards the point at which they were aiming. "Might take us a while and yet again delay our noon 'tea party' with the others... but every second in your company is precious to me, remember?"

He gave her toe another nibble.

"It really depends on how desperate you are for my... attention. My long, _rough _archer's fingers within Your Grace's most luscious person."

Byleth was certain every part of her body had blushed red.

"Very well," she sighed weakly, immediately removing her circlet. "We shall take the causeway. Are you armed?"

"Naturally," he said, indicating his folded clothes where a sword and a bow lay nearby.

"Bring both," she said sharply. "Have your sword at the ready."

If there legitimately were enemies on the other side of the lake, they would need to fight in close quarters. Byleth certainly felt pent up enough to kill a foe with a single blow.

"I'll bring them for appearance's sake but there won't be foes, I already checked."

"We should still be armed," she said resolutely. "Just in case."

He gave her a firm nod and reluctantly let go of her foot.

Claude began to wade over towards his weapons - and his clothes - when Byleth called to him again. "Wait, just how deep is the causeway?"

He stopped and looked down to search beneath the waters.

"Hmm? Ah, about this deep."

He stepped up onto it. In doing so, he had all but climbed out of the water completely. Byleth's eyes slowly trailed down his body. They followed the droplets of water as they traced from his collar bone to the natural dip of his chest, the dark hairs there caught some but her gaze kept moving down, down to his waist, (where the cold of the water certainly hadn't affected him), and lower still to where the water came up:

Just below his knees.

_So, just above mine_.

She ceased her undress.

"If it's _that _shallow, why do I need to strip off to my underwear, Your Royal Highness?"

"As a precaution, Your Grace."

He climbed out of the lake without another word, as if the matter was closed.

"Uh-huh? A 'precaution'?"

"Indeed," Claude replied, wrapping the drying cloth about himself. He pointed to the sky, alerting her to a dark set of clouds some way away. "Rain is coming, faster than you probably think, so you'd best keep some of your clothes dry. What if you misstep, slip and fall into the river, getting dank pond grime all over your lovely vestments?"

"Is that likely?"

"I dunno, maybe. There are other considerations, too."

His eyes filled with mischief, "What if... a rogue Almyran king rips the damned things off you? What would _Seteth _say!? You have to plan for these things."

"The rogue Almyran king will just have to control himself," was Byleth's tart reply. "Or I'll change my mind and not go at all!"

Claude snorted.

"Fine, fine," he muttered. "We wouldn't want it to come to that, would we? After all, denying yourself hurts you as much as it does me. I don't even care if your vestments get wet... or ripped."

As a compromise, she removed the embellishments of her garb and folded them neatly alongside her stockings, as well as her corset. Only her shorts, top and whatever lay beneath remained. Picking them up, she walked towards where he was sorting through his items underneath a tall, bending willow.

"I'm ready," Byleth called over. "Cover-up and let's go."

He looked up at her, gave her visage a quick glance and smirked, still covered by the towel and in no rush to garb himself.

Byleth looked wearily behind her, up the incline where the guards were presumably still stationed.

"I mean it, what if your guards see me with you-" she glanced down at his barely-covered modesty, "-like this?"

When their eyes met again, he just looked amused.

"It'd certainly give them a surprise."

_"Claude!"_

Byleth was ashamed at how sulky he was making her. Though she wouldn't admit it aloud, it wasn't even about propriety — it was her desperate want.

Seeing that she was getting genuinely flustered, he began to dress a little faster.

"Very well," he chuckled. "Heaven forbid if someone were to come across us in this compromising situation and correctly interpret what's going on. Here—!"

He reached out to take the folded items from her arms.

"—put anything you don't want getting wet here with my things. This tree will provide plenty of shelter from the rain."

She gave another cautious glance up the hill.

"Won't your guards—?" she began.

"Nope," he cut her off. "I already told them I would be investigating these surroundings. They have orders to only come looking for me if I fail to return for the noon meeting. _'Else Count Lorenz Hellman Gloucester will have my eyes for a pair of earrings for his Countess,' _I told them, and my eyes are stunning so Hilda'd probably wear them, too."

Byleth had to smile.

"Leonie was annoyed," she told him. "As was Lysithea."

"Ah, well, in that case, I'll be burned alive - or my perfect head will end up as a trophy hung above a fireplace," Claude quipped. "It'd certainly be a talking point for Leonie's father."

"And they'll just accept that?"

"My head getting cut off for a hunting trophy? I'm certain there'd be a war-"

"I _meant_, will your guards really stay put that long? You're their king!"

"Exactly," Claude chimed with absoluteness. "I'm their king; the 'king of all kings' they call me. I know you've heard all this before but, to put it bluntly, I have a reputation at home. Just as your 'illustrious' husband didn't win his throne by tickling Edelgard to death, I didn't unite Almyra without putting arrows in any _maliks_, _emrs _and _khans_ who disturbed my father's peace or challenged his rule - if they wouldn't bend, I broke them. "

_He had fought a bloody war, for certain, _Byleth thought. She had had the 'pleasure' of seeing some of it, first hand._ Just as bloody as the one fought here. _

"I _had_ to prove myself worthy as my father's successor," he admitted. "It's better to say that most people do not want to get on the wrong side of me. Those that do don't tend to live very long. Another way in which we two are as one, I think, my stars-above."

She understood. Almyra was a massive, sprawling country filled with people of different beliefs, languages and cultures, constantly bickering and in-fighting. It was not unlike Fódlan in that respect. The one thing that united that vast country was their admiration of strength — it truly was the only constant.

Thus, once in a lifetime, a king might unite those warring people, win enough prestige and earn enough respect to be dubbed the _xsahxsahran — _the 'king of all kings'. The title rarely outlived the man who earned it. Sometimes an especially powerful family might retain it for a few generations, though too often it ended with a weak son, a war between the rivalling head families and an upcoming warrior wishing to topple the royal family. Then the cycle would begin anew.

Needless to say, the son of the king, called the _xsahzahde, _was required to enter the world kicking and screaming with bloody murder in order to survive the cradle, let alone grow-up to succeed the throne. Then, once he had it, he had to be unassailably in command to keep it. Almyrans didn't exactly respect primogeniture. Blood meant very little in a land dominated by 'right of conquest' - a weak prince was a dead prince.

An _xsahduxtar_, a daughter of the king, had it no better. Not when a tested and true method for an ambitious warlord seeking to underminethe current king was stealing said daughter for a wife. Sometimes an ambitious princess would even invite such attempts, making them more akin to "political elopements" than kidnappings. Most of the time though these maids were loyal and true daughters who had to survive by learning to defend themselves against, and even to kill, anyone whose intentions are revealed to be impure. To them, it was better to die fighting than suffer the humiliation of capture and imprisonment.

It was a struggle Byleth had found herself sympathising with.

While no one had ever tried to 'bride-nap' her, people had always found her an oddity. Her ruthlessness as a warrior on the battlefield frightened her father's men yet her attractiveness had made her a compelling conquest. Most men had the sense to stay away, others had tried their luck - resorting to force when charm was met with a blank stare. Needless to say, none had lived; the first thing Jeralt ever taught her was how to stab a man so death was certain.

Byleth looked up at the sky. The clouds were white and the sky seemed blue, perhaps there was a black-grey cluster in the distance but... would it _really _reach them so quickly?

"It will rain," he said as if reading her mind. "It'll be quick, brutal and very, very wet."

Sure enough, as they began the walk the sun ducked behind the clouds. By the time they were a quarter of the way across, the first drops began to hit. Soon the heavens would open and it wouldn't matter whether they had taken the causeway or simply swam.

Byleth was startled when Claude threw one half of his towel over her head, bringing them closer together as he sheltered beneath tother.

"What?" he chuckled. "I don't control the weather."

Rushing would only cause her to slip and then she really would be soaked. So, she slowly walked the submerged path as gentle showers turned to heavy-beatings of rainfall.

_Thank goodness the rest of my clothes are under shelter!_ she thought.

They were reaching the other side when the flash-storm started to lift, now a gentle shower. It was as though nature had wanted to purposely drench them out of spite.

At last, the lake became shallower and Byleth's feet followed the causeway up to the shore. Claude followed behind her to make sure she didn't misstep.

She turned to face him, and he whistled.

Looking down she saw exactly why. Though her garbs were black, they were so wet they had become translucent against her soaked skin. They legitimately ceased to leave much of anything to the imagination, and her nipples were the cherries on the cake.

"The lake and the rain were... cold," and she stubbornly folded her arms over her chest.

Claude bleated out a laugh, delighted that she was needlessly covering up for him when only the other night he had kissed, squeezed and suckled those very breasts.

"Don't worry," he assured her, softly. "You aren't alone in your soaked dismay. I'm completely drenched, too."

She pointed.

"This is the grotto?"

"Indeed," he nodded. With a lamenting exhalation, he stared down at his damp clothes gripping his skin. "Seriously, I might as well have stayed naked..."

"Behave yourself!" she rebutted, wishing to put up the pretence that she might not have been thinking of his damned fingers the whole walk over. "We're still in sight of the other side."

"Actually..." Her skin leapt as he reached out to stroke a hand against her back. As she turned, he steadily backed her towards the lip of the cave, "No, we aren't."

Looking over at the other side, Byleth could see they were indeed covered by the trees.

"I think we're fine."

Their weapons fell limply into the soft soil.

He immediately reached down between her legs.

"When you get like this I never quite know what to do with you."

She closed her eyes, no intention of stopping him.

"Uh-huh," he husked.

Holding her by the small of her back with one hand, the other slipped down her shorts and underwear. She became conscious of the thick and sturdy rod pressed between them.

Her gasp caught in her throat.

"Gods," he whispered in odd awe. "You're so warm, and soft... and very, _very_ wet, aren't you?"

At that, her hands immediately rested over the tenting of his trousers, prompting a choked groan from him in return. "You're very, _very_ hard, aren't you?" she said, parodying the tone he had used.

"I am. I have been for... quite some time now."

"Let me fix that for you."

She began to kiss and nip the bare skin of his neck and then collarbone, before pushing aside the still damp cloth of his shirt to begin a descent upon his chest. She considered using her own sword-calloused fingertips — and her mouth — on him. _A tip-for-tap_, she thought, for his glib tongue that had teased her toes.

She reached for the buttons.

But he stopped her.

"Not yet."

His fingertips found that most sensitive part of her, and he began to rub. Byleth cried out an _"oh!" _immediately, grasping blindly at his nape for support. Feeling her legs start to quake beneath her, she encircled one around his own in a desperate attempt to leverage herself.

A low snigger escaped him.

"Does it feel good, my stars-above? How I'm making you feel right now, with my fingers that you love _sooooo_ much?"

Every word he spoke stroked her ear, winding the knot within her ever tighter. She tried to speak, to reply, but every utterance failed upon her lips as he continued his relentless assault. All she could do was grip him tighter, all whimpers and whines.

He easily pressed one finger inside her, then a second.

"_Yes!_" she finally heaved out.

"...Oh? Hit the sweet spot, have I?"

_Oh, you have the sweet-spot!_

It was causing her to lose all presence of self. She could have been anywhere at that moment. Whether in that cave or a million miles away, the only thing that seemed to be keeping her anchored to reality was him.

"Would you really..." he breathed into her ear, "...come from just my fingers?"

She still couldn't talk, even a nod felt like too much effort.

He chuckled, "...you _would_, wouldn't you?"

_Yes!_ she thought, the word itself failing her. This was _toe_-_curling_. It never ceased to amaze her when his onslaught reached this point. She wanted to scratch the shirt upon his back to pieces and to cry with how damned wonderful it felt, at how close she was to her release. She wanted him, all of him.

_How can he possibly go faster, harder and more vigorous?_

Yet he did. It was more than she could handle. Alone, Byleth usually found herself shying away from this most precious place before she could ever reach it, as if Sothis were still with her and judging her. But Claude refused to relent until she reached it, and passed it.

He began to slow his teasing to small strokes and delicate twists of his fingers before he carefully, almost hesitantly, removed his hand from her - and she screamedout in frustration.

_"Why are-!"_ she managed to croak.

But then she felt his desperate struggle with her bottom layers and realised what he wanted, what he needed.

_Oh!_

Frantically, she untangled herself from him and came to his aid. Once she was bared, she reached once again to unbutton his trousers; this time, he didn't stop her. Despite the roaring passion at her centre that was still crying out for its climax, she welcomed the much slower kisses he placed against her skin as he hoisted her up.

"I don't think this will last long..." Claude confessed warily.

Byleth shook her head with an _"I don't care,"_ begged him _"hurry!" _and pleaded for him to take her _"quickly!"_ She was desperate that the build-up within her did not go out with a whimper.

Her beseechments died on her lips and in their place, a loud, shriek of delight erupted from her as he pushed in at last.

Despite feeling little more than a deadweight and a bundle of nerves in his arms, she wrapped herself around him, holding on as if on to dear life as every inch of him filled the void greater than that which had been left by his fingers. She was close. _So close._

He whispered with each purposeful movement.

"Come for me, By... come on... _come on..!_"

His words were like an arcane spell, and on the third appeal, her body obliged.

Smothering her groan against his mouth, she was swiftly undone by the third and fourth thrust. His fingers had already laid the groundwork; the rest of him finished her off. _Another part of him that I love_, was her wry thought. Her whole body clenched and stiffened as she arched against him to draw out the pleasure just that little more.

He growled as his own release was drawn from him, too, by her burden and tightness wrapped about him. He might not have lasted long... but Byleth could feel the tension ebbing away from him with each weakening roll of his hips as he spilt inside her.

Gently, if not unsteadily, her feet found the ground again and her mouth found his lips.

"You certainly didn't make that noise in your study," he teased, breathily.

"At least it didn't rain in the study!" she riposted lightly.

Closing her eyes to let the last shocks roll over her, she allowed herself to simply be cradled in his hold. Despite the damp, she felt warm with him and the feeling of his afterglow.

_Pity! If only you didn't have to sneak around like this._

Suddenly, she thought of Sothis again.

Byleth hadn't truly heard her speak since they fused. Sometimes, she would think in Sothis's voice - especially when telling herself off - but it wasn't really her. She was gone. Seteth once confessed to her that, for a time, had her crest-heart been removed they might have been able to separate, though the likelihood of it killing Byleth was greater than it turning her back into a 'regular' woman.

_Have I ever been 'regular' though?_

She couldn't remember a time she had been, so to become so would be the true abnormal. It was entirely too late at this point anyway. With each moment, the line between the old Goddess and the new blurred further and the memory of Sothis's voice faded more.

_What would you think if you saw me right now? _she found herself thinking. _Would you understand my plight or rebuke me for my actions?_

Claude placed a kiss on her crown.

"Whatchya thinking about, Teach?"

His use of her old nickname snapped Byleth's eyes open.

"Sothis," she straight away admitted.

Claude was one of the few people on Earth who knew what that meant to her. One of the only people she had ever described it to.

Although taken a little aback he laughed.

"Well, I wasn't expecting that response. That's like me saying I was thinking of my grandfather—!"

She gave him a playful tap to silence him.

"I was wondering what she would say if she could talk to me right now."

They pulled away from one another slightly, their lips meeting for another few kisses before Byleth fully separated her body from his.

"The way you described her..." he replied thoughtfully. "Makes me think she'd either reprimand you for our shamelessness or congratulate you for it."

It was like he read her mind, and Byleth couldn't help but smile. He didn't have the answer to her question any more than she did — but he had certainly got the measure of Sothis.

_Sothis would have liked Claude, _Byleth believed. _Though she'd never have admitted it._


	3. Afterglow

**Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.**

**Be advised that the central plot of this story focuses on adultery. I completely respect that this is not for everyone. If you find any of these subject matters uncomfortable or upsetting please don't read.**

**Edits: [18/June/2020] Tweaked a few chronological errors I made.**

* * *

**Afterglow**

_Nineteenth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

After their dalliance in the grotto, the King of Almyra and the Archbishop had sashayed back to camp utterly soaked, dishevelled and satisfied. Needless to say, they had turned a few heads at the sight of them, not least because they had a mere half-hour to fix themselves up for the already-delayed provisions meeting. Yet Byleth had displayed such dignity, solemnity and divine-sternness despite her tousled appearance that none in the camp would have believed trails of Claude's seed still traced her inner thigh. He might have found the duplicity amusing... had their circumstances not been so precarious.

It was lucky for them both that her 'resting-blank face' allowed her to carry herself in a manner that made her seem unapproachable. She was the empyreal Archbishop of the Reformed Church of Seiros, queen-consort to King Dimitri I of the Holy Kingdoms of Faerghus, Adrestia and Leicester_... and unbeknownst to all, my mistress. _

_My love. _

_ ...eshtâre'uyla-mi..._

_ My stars-above... _

He sighed loudly as he entered his quarters, barely acknowledging Nader's greeting on the way in.

Despite having found a moment of respite in that dank little cave sheltered by the shadows, there was already a part of him that felt bereft. Physically, yes, their lovemaking had lulled the never-ending hunger he had for her, for now. Yet still the void he felt when they were no longer as one, and then when he watched her return to 'her side' of the camp, champed away at his arteries like a mouse on twine, breaking his heart a little more each time.

"Enjoy your stroll in the woods, kiddo?"

Nader's voice rang through him like a gong, putting such stress on the 'stroll' that it knocked Claude off-kilter somewhat. He had entered, unannounced of course, to snap his former charge out of his trip through his never-ending library of memories.

"Good morning to you too, Nader, or what's left of it at least — and don't you mean, 'How did the reconnaissance go, Your Royal Highness?'"

_Good job I'm decent — wait! Are those hickeys covered up? _he quickly thought, pressing his fingers against where Byleth had marked him, relieved to feel the cloth that safely hid them.

"Huh," Nader leaned against the wooden framework of the tent, shaking the entire structure for a moment as he eyed his monarch curiously. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"

"Are you implying something untoward, Nader?"

"Not at all," he said quickly, holding his hands up defensively. "I just thought you were bathing a very long time. Me? I prefer to get in, scrub the dirt off and get out, no hanging around and no need for some ex-teacher of mine to drag me out like a naughty kid..."

A fleeting moment passed.

"Of course, if _that _little lady was scouring my back for me—!"

"I hope you aren't making comments like that around the camp, Commander," Claude scolded lightly, forcing a smile. The image of his lover scrubbing Nader's back was not one he cared to have imprinted in his mind. "Referring to Lady Byleth as 'that little lady' alone is quite disrespectful, implying that she would scour your back is probably blasphemous."

"What do you take me for, kiddo?" Nader chuckled. "Even if I were dancin' a jig as I said it, the lads would be laughing at the very idea of her scrubbing _anyone's _back, it's so ridiculous in their minds!"

_If only you all knew_, the king thought coyly.

The long-held assumption that Almyrans had about Fódleans was that they were priggish and their Archbishops were the embodiment of that sexlessness — probably because they had all essentially been cut from the same cloth as Lady Rhea.

The fact that Byleth was married did nothing to quell that stereotype, not least because she and Dimitri had no children. Claude had overheard one of his officers, a brat who used to pick on him for having 'coward's-blood', making a snide comment about Byleth for it the other day to a _tross_-woman he'd trapped on his lap:

_"Rumour has it the cravens' green-haired queen's barren. That's bad enough... but a prude on top of it all!? That one-eyed king is probably praying to their daeva dragon-goddess for her to open her legs. He might not get an heir but at least he'll get laid!"_

Claude made an example of him during drills later that same morning by using him for target practice, citing it as punishment for endangering the goodwill of the Fódleans within their own country with his 'insensitivity' towards a sitting monarch and a woman of the cloth. Honestly, it wouldn't have usually bothered him what they said about Byleth or Dimitri (certainly not about Dimitri), but he drew the line at them poking fun at something he knew she was sensitive about...

"Even if it is 'ridiculous', I don't think it is wise to say such derogatory things about Her Grace," he finally concluded. "As I warned Heydar the other day, it might be seen as sacrilege by our Fódlean allies if they overheard us sexualising their religious figurehead and queen-consort like this. I don't think _she _would appreciate it either."

To that Nader threw his head back and laughed.

"I dunno, she seems like a girl with a sense of humour about herself."

"I'd sooner not test her patience, my friend."

"As you say," Nader shrugged, non-convinced. "I mean from what I've heard most of your men have a begrudging respect for Queen Byleth. Heck, I know I do!"

He then stared thoughtfully into space, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"People will always talk about a lady like that and you just have to live with that, kiddo! She's an archbishop, a queen and a fearsome warrior on top of that but she's also an attractive woman with no scars on 'er! Now _that's _rare, and, if I might say so, considering whether or not there are any marks anywhere else-"

"You may _not _say so!"

"-beneath the robes is prime material for their fantasies," Nader finished, having already begun as Claude spoke his words. "Ahem, pardon me, Your Royal Highness."

Byleth _was _surprisingly lacking in battle scars, it was true. Claude _had _seen 'beneath the robes' and there was barely a scratch on her - save for one. There was a faint, white line that ran vertically up her chest, lying at the valley of her breasts, so tiny and fine he might have missed it had he not been smothering it with kisses at the time._ "How did this happen?"_ he had asked but Byleth had no answer for him. _"I've had it as long as I can remember." _

_Odd_, he thought then - and now.

Claude certainly recalled how he got most of his battle scars, which would indicate she had received it when she was a child. He contemplated that for a moment; it was as if she had once been sliced with precision upward across her heart... _but that couldn't be right, could it? _

His mind almost went off on another tangent, missing the end to Nader's 'point'.

"With the best will in the world to Her Grace, many men in this camp probably fantasise about having those showy legs of hers wrapped around their—!"

Claude turned sharply.

"Don't say that where people might hear!"

_Especially me. _

"Remember I've broken your nose twice as a kid by accident," he warned. "Imagine how much it'd hurt if I do it on purpose."

"A broken nose is a broken nose," Nader rebutted with a shrug. "You're lucky you still have one at all with the mouth you have on ya, Your Royal Highness."

Claude re-tied his sash, acting as dire as his nature would allow.

"I mean it, Nader. You can't talk about her in _that _way."

"Oh, can't I?"

"The Fódleans really, really might not take it well."

"The 'Fódleans' won't, eh?"

"Seriously, this tone of yours is starting to grate!" he hissed.

He normally enjoyed Nader's gruff humour but the idea of him or anyone imagining his stars-above in 'dubious' situations almost bothered him as much as the existence of her husband did. Admittedly, though, he preferred it to _other _things they might be saying about her, and him, things he didn't want to find their way back to Fhirdiad and Dimitri. Yet for diplomacy sake as well as his sanity he didn't want jokes and japes to be made at Byleth's expense, even the good-natured sort.

The fact that Nader wouldn't let this go, though, was starting to daunt Claude.

_Does he suspect something between us?_

If he did, he'd prefer the old guy just come out with it instead of prodding and poking him. The words tumbled out of him as he thought them: "If you have something to say, just say it!"

For the first time, Nader looked like something approaching sheepish. "I've nothing to say, just trying to make banter."

"I don't mind banter but be careful who you choose as your target," Claude answered firmly. "I know you don't care if someone takes the Wise One's namein vain but Fódleans take their Goddess seriously. Need I remind you that By - that is Her Grace _Lady _Byleth - isn't just the archbishop to them. They believe her to be the avatar of their Creator."

"Yes, yes you've said! "he elder man grunted. "Those legs of 'ers are pretty... divine, aren't they?"

_Legs that an hour ago had been clamped around me like a vice. _He could still feel the delightful ache in his sides as she had tightly squeezed him, the scolding feeling at his core when he felt her come around him-_wait,_ _stop, I can't be thinking about this now!_

"Enough, Nader!" Claude sniped.

Nader held his hands up in defeat.

"Fine, Lady Byleth's visage is to be worshipped silently and from afar. Dually noted."

The King of Almyra nodded resolutely.

"I just figured talking about it would... help ya."

"Help... me?"

"Yeah, to let it all out I mean," Nader cleared his throat and leaned closer, weirdly surreptitious, "I can tell you have... a thing for Her Grace."

Claude cocked an eyebrow, "A 'thing'?"

"Yeah," Nader nodded, scratching his cheek. "But given she's the archbishop of that dragon-worshipping religion, not to mention a married woman, it's not like you can act upon it."

He had to choke back a self-loathing scoff. Instead, he nodded passively.

"This sort of thing has never been your forte," Nader continued. "So, I figured you'd appreciate getting some things outta your system. Bit of brotherhood, y'know?"

_Get it out of my system, ha!_

If all he had was 'a thing' for Byleth he might have been able to control his feelings; arousal was easy to assuage and gratification quick to mastermind. What he felt was something much greater, far more powerful and all-consuming. Yet it was _enthralling_. He couldn't imagine a world - whether it was the one they lived in right now or the one he sought to build - that didn't include her. Each time he held her in his arms, it was like reuniting with a piece of his spirit. _It's not just our bodies that are entwined but our souls too. _Then, when they were together, as close as two people could ever be and she whispered sweet words into his ear, the universe seemed to shrink until all that existed was them...

...and he could forget, even just for a moment, that she was married to someone else.

During his darker moments where sleep wouldn't take him and all he had were the thoughts whirring around inside his head, Claude wondered if Byleth ever compared him to her husband, or whether she ever felt guilty after their rendezvous. She never expressed any guilt to him but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Had it started to ebb away as it had for him? He didn't like to ask her directly... even thinking Dimitri's name brought him face to face with their circumstances.

_I can hold her, kiss her and make her mine thousands of times over but Dimitri's her husband, not me._

It infuriated him.

_She should be __**my **__wife._

"I appreciate the thought..." he finally said, gently. "But I fear you have the wrong end of the stick about Teach and me."

Nader scoffed.

"Come on, _Khalid!_ Be serious. You're pretty good at hiding your feelings from most people but I know you."

"Nonetheless... stick, wrong-end."

"So, why are ya bein' all, _'Don't say those things about milady Byleth!'_ then? Is it that you're a convert to the dragon-faith now? Trust me, your whole, _'Won't someone think of the Fódleans!' _excuses aren't foolin' me!"

"See right through me do you, Nader?" Claude sighed starting to feel exhausted with this line of questioning. "It's cultural sensitivity, that's all. As they say, 'When in Morfis, do as the Morfisians do!' and I would hope the Fódleans would do the same if they were in Almyra."

"They wouldn't dare do otherwise."

"And neither should we."

_Now, time to end this damned conversation! _

"Get the other commanders together," Claude demanded. "It's near noon."

"We've been ready a while now, Your Excellency."

"Then make sure to keep pace with me," the king commanded.

* * *

In Almyra, the Wise One was believed to exist within every living being and Its presence took the form of a flame. That fire was your soul. Legend had it that there were only so many of these fires within the universe. So, at the beginning of eternity, a single flame had to be split between two people. Just as the fire was once whole, the pair completed one another and were forever twinned by fate, destined to meet and fall in love.

If the romances were true, the sweethearts would eventually be completely captive to their passions. Powerless thralls to their love, nothing could tear them asunder even if kingdoms were to clash or the very sky was about to fall about their ears. Sometimes the endings of these stories would be grim - the man would go mad and scratch out his own eyes, the woman would die from grief after being forced to marry another man, or they would enter a gruesome death-pact so they could be together in the next life.

Like moths dancing around a torch, it drew them together and consumed them from within.

The idea of a literal half-fire burning in his heart had seemed silly to Claude as a boy. Besides, the goals he had set his 'flame' upon were so lofty, so far beyond what any woman could be expected to stick around for while he worked to accomplish them, that finding love became a low priority in his mind. It wasn't so much that he lacked desire itself — his mission was just more important to him.

Once he had entered 'the summer of life', as his father called it, his mother had been concerned that their teenage son would rush to-and-through, spreading his oats fast and wide. So, Nader had been the one tasked with giving him the 'talk'. They thought it would be less awkward coming from him than them, though it was certainly not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone. Yet, he had humoured them chiefly because he wanted to see the look on Nader's face when he realised there was nothing to discuss.

_As if a precocious little scamp like me hadn't researched the facts of life years beforehand!_

On that fateful day when the topic had been broached, his old instructor had also been surprised when Claude told him he was 'keeping his oats to himself.'

The burly warrior had scratched the back of his neck, forehead creased as if trying to solve a puzzle.

"Huh, does it... work okay?"

"Yeeeees."

"But you're not interested in...?"

"It's not that I'm not interested," the younger version of him had shrugged. "I just have other projects that occupy my mind."

The truth was he had been busy searching for a jump-start to his said project. It was a pity his poor old uncle whom he never met had to die for it to happen.

He continued: "Don't get me wrong, I know what I like. Some girls get my blood pumping but — I dunno. Actually doing, y'know, the act itself feels..." It was hard to explain.

"Kiddo, if you feel that way you're probably doing it wrong!"

To his surprise, Nader became serious then. "Ah, no worries! You're probably one of those people who need it to be the right person, your 'twinned flame', so to speak. Heh, I used to think your dad was a weirdo—ahem, what I mean is, His Royal Highness was the same."

"I don't know about that. It's more like... it doesn't feel like I'd be achieving anything."

"'Achieving' anything...?"

"Yeah, like, 'what's the point'?"

"Does... there need to be one? Most people do it because, y'know, it just feels... good, or they do it to relax!" He paused. "Or because they're in love?"

"Sure, but I can make myself 'feel good' without the risk of disease, pregnancy or being burdened with feelings. I'd need a better reason than _'Because, y'know, it feels good!' _and I can meditate if I want to relax."

He had twirled and arrow in his fingers, returning to target practice to signal the conversation was done.

Nader sniffed. "And love?"

"But I'm _not _in love."

"You might be one day."

"One day, but not _to_day."

Nader could have continued to query him but he hadn't. Instead, his expression had just twisted in resignation. 'You're weird, kiddo,' it said. It made the young lad grin to know he could stump the undefeated warrior over something as basic as his outlook towards sex.

"It's all fine, kiddo, but maybe keep all this to yourself when around the other lads-"

"I had no intention of shouting it from the rooftops!"

_As if I would tell them anyway. _

They had all hated him back then for having 'coward's-blood'. Now, half of the 'lads' had died in the 'War of Succession', the eighteen-millionth one since Almyra's founding, after failing to comply with Claude's demands and recognise him as their king. As for those who survived, they were now 'men' in his army, prostrating before him and being the good little soldiers they ought to be.

_They know better than to cross me now._

Yet even now they were the last people he would ever want to discuss his love life with - and he wasn't too keen to talk about it with Nader, either. He preferred to keep it all within the confines of his mind with it never reaching any further than the ears of his mistress.

Here he was over a decade later and the twinned flames fable finally made sense to him:

It was an allegory for deep, passionate, unyielding and undying, true love. A love that cannot be cast aside for anything... everything he felt for Byleth now. They were the two moths about a flame, or the two limbs of a bow, or two magnets being pulled together. The closer they were, the more powerful the draw. Yet even when they were apart from one another the longing, dear Lord of Eternity, the longing made him want to scream!

If soul mates existed, there was no doubt in his heart that she was his.

"Welp, at least your mother will be relieved."

Those had been the last words Nader had said about 'the talk' before he finally gave up and left Claude to his own devices.

_Would Mother still be 'relieved' if she knew where I was 'sowing my oats' now? _Claude wondered. He could imagine what she would say if she ever found out: _"What are you 'achieving' with this stunt, aside from burning bridges before you've even built them!?"_

She would like Byleth as a person, being a straightforward woman herself. Anyone who had the nickname of 'Ashen Demon' would be alright in her books. Though Byleth had a gentler and more patient heart, they shared a fierce protectiveness towards what mattered to them.

_Yes, Mother would love Byleth... but her status as a religious figurehead and another king's wife would give her a heart attack!_

Then there was his father.

The previous King of Almyra had always disliked his son's underhandedness when he was a child — and was still wary of it as an adult despite the results it had achieved. Knowing him, he would probably think that Claude was playing a trick, that he was trying to undermine Dimitri by sleeping with his wife or the Fódlan faith by 'desecrating' their progenitor god.

His old man's thought process was terribly predictable, unlike Claude himself.

After all, there were much safer ways to 'undermine' Dimitri than to cuckold him. The truth was when their affair began, all he had wanted was to be with Byleth. Her husband couldn't have been further from his mind, as awful as that was to admit. He was sorry that Dimitri might ultimately be hurt by their actions... but he felt no regret for having done it in the first place. _There's a special place in hell for men like me_, he thought in resignation. Claude had passed the point of feeling ashamed over his love for Byleth. That had gone long, _loooooong _ago and well before their budding passions bore adulterous fruit. As time progressed, any stigma he felt about his love or acting upon them were surpassed by the conviction that they belonged together.

As for 'profaning' the goddess's avatar... well, as far as he was concerned there could be no one walking the earth who had worshipped at her 'temple' _so _devoutly, 'prayed' to her _so _ardently nor 'reverenced' her _so _utterly as he did daily and nightly. Puns aside, Sothis's gifts made Byleth powerful... but physically, she was still a woman, not some holy vassal that his mortal hands could defile.

There was one good piece of advice from his father he took to heart, though:

_"If people don't trust you, they will never follow you. Now, wrists out, Khalid - you need to be punished!"_

His father seriously underestimated the power a smile had, though.

Claude always sought to sit down with his enemies and try to talk it all out. If they called off the battle and joined his cause, he would gladly accept them into the fold. If they antagonised him further despite having been offered the hand of peace, he would show them no mercy. Sometimes all talk breaks down and you cannot find even the narrowest of common grounds with your enemy, so, there was no choice but to fight.

He always made good his word and smiled as he did it, even if he didn't want to.

"By maintaining a smile, my rivals and enemies never know what I'm thinking and thus can never second-guess me."

He told his father as much when he demanded the crown from him after all the battles were done.

Everything was a weapon - his smile, words, blood... and crest.

His mother had disliked his admission to her that he sought to use the crest he'd inherited from her family line as a weapon.

_"Your crest is a mark of my people's goddess, not another one of your silly little tricks, Claude!"_

_That's the point! It isn't a trick — this is __**real**__ power. _

As much as he respected her, she was cut from cloth similar to his father - punch first, ask later. No wonder she took to Almyra like a duckling to a pond.

Moving to a country where even more of these strange marks existed had been bizarre. Having only just found out he had the blasted thing, sixteen-year-old Claude had been called upon by his maternal grandfather. There he had been, the only child of old Duke Riegan's weird daughter, a woman whom none had seen since she ran away from her engagement with the then-heir, now-Count Gloucester twenty-years ago, appearing out-of-nowhere as if by magic to plug the hole Godfrey had left behind. Had it not been for that distinctive crescent-moon glyph etched beneath Claude's flesh and pulsing through his blood, none would have swallowed the story and civil war might have broken out in the Alliance.

Fódlan was so obsessed with damned crests it was a free-pass to recognition!

Then, when he'd heard that the fellow crest-bearing Imperial Princess and the Crown Prince were enrolling at the Officers Academy, he had told his grandfather it would be "bad form" if he didn't do the same and attempt to foster good relationships with them. It was one of the few things he and the old man agreed upon; Claude could pursue his dream, and Duke Riegan could send his Almyran-born grandson to the fanciest finishing school money could buy.

Unfortunately, Princess Edelgard and Prince Dimitri were very set in their ways.

There was no denying that Dimitri had been the more approachable - and willing to talk to people outside his own house in general. He never seemed to be assessing Claude as much as he was making snap judgements, and voicing them to his face. He especially liked to tell him how distasteful he found his tricks and schemes.

"Have you no respect for your station, Claude?"

"Not really."

"Well, what of honour? Have you any of that?!"

"I have honour," he had rebutted to the golden-haired princeling. "It might not be the fantastical, fuddy-duddy Faerghusian knight's code straight outta a Loogian romance _you _follow... but it _does _exist within my twisted little heart."

Dimitri's eyes had darkened then, "Are you familiar with how the Loogian legends tend to end, Claude? Loog's ideal fails. Believe me, I know better than most how unachievable it is to live by that code absolutely. I have seen the darkness that lies within men's hearts. Those ideals do not exist."

The way he had said those words had unnerved Claude somewhat though he was glad they agreed on something.

He had also been more open to the idea of working together. There had been times when he had sought Claude out for his opinion on certain matters, especially when it came to predicting more underhanded strategies, like the sort that creepy retainer of Edelgard's liked to use.

Even Claude thought Hubert could go a little _too _far at times.

"Forgive me!" Dimitri would say contritely. "I am sure you have many pressing matters to concern yourself with but you have an adept skill at these things."

"It's fine. You can scratch my back as long as I get to scratch yours..."

He hadn't told Dimitri his full plan though he had explained enough to provoke his interest.

"I see. Well, I would most certainly wish to seek a mutually beneficial alliance with you... providing this 'dream' of yours does not interfere with my own goals," His Princeliness had concluded. "I suppose the houses of Blaiddyd and Riegan should be close — we share blood and were of a single line, after all."

Claude didn't think much in terms of houses and bloodlines... though if it helped get Dimitri on board, he'd consider it a win.

_To think over seven-years-later we'd be the men we are now_, he thought dully.

In stark comparison, Edelgard was as stubborn as a mule. Her Highness was too pig-ignorant to think she needed help from the likes of Claude. Frankly, he was certain that she had written him off as a fool.

He had tried to assuage her with topics she might find interesting. When that failed, he fell back on his other weapons: wit and craft, gumption and industry, insatiable curiosity and an unshakeable ambition to unwrap every heart he encountered.

Flirting often helped with that last one, he found.

His looks, (and the desire they might inspire), were yet another arrow for him to shoot and see where it landed. Edelgard was no exception either. Getting blushes out of the stoic Princess had been a badge of honour, and yet...

"I have my own dream to tend to," she declared.

_And I have no use for the likes of you!_ her scowl added.

Her heart remained as closed as her mind.

_Pity... all that power, intelligence and beauty squandered because she solved her problems with bloodshed. _ In the end, the person who Claude had initially pinpointed to be his most useful potential ally turned out to be the greatest obstacle for peace. Edelgard was his antithesis. So, her loss to the world was no great loss to him at all.

_What a waste!_

Then, Byleth had come along.

Back when he was a student and she the teacher, he had been gagging to harness her skills, then later her unfathomable power. The more she gained, the more curious he became about her. He would go out of his way to sit in any seminar she held so that he might soak up her knowledge like a sponge. She was a tactical genius, always getting the upper hand over any enemy. Claude enjoyed strategy and he loved to bounce his own ideas off her, to see how she would counter them. It was an excellent means to see which schemes were predictable, and which ones required a moment's pause for her to puzzle out first.

The more he listened to her, the greater his desire to get close to her became.

"If I could wield that sword of yours, I'd achieve my goals in a fortnight," he had said, one time after a seminar on tactics she had led on Hanneman's request.

"Nothing is ever _that _easy," was Byleth's simple response.

He had purposely lingered behind to have a conversation with her, hoping to squeeze some more information out of her about her background. Her crest at least indicated she was a direct descendant of Nemesis... though whether that was passed down through Jeralt's line or her mother's was another question he wanted an answer to. It was well-known Jeralt possessed a crest of Seiros, so, perhaps they were descendants of her as well!

_Maybe __**that's **__why she was so powerful...?_

"My mother once told me a legend where the King of Liberation struck fear in his enemies by cutting mountains in half with that thing."

Byleth had stared at him. Her eyes had still been blue back then, just as lovely but much colder.

"I'm not cutting a mountain in half for your amusement."

"Spoilsport!"

She ignored him and turned her back.

"Is there something you want, Claude?"

His smile had grown wider. She had meant it like 'why are you still here?' Yet, instead of a witty response, his eighteen-year-old self had spoken with all the frankness (and cheekiness) she secretly seemed to enjoy about him.

"I want to gaze into your soul, Teach," he told her, head resting upon his hand as he watched her clean the blackboard. "I love a good puzzle-box and you're the most captivating one here. More than anything, though? I want to understand what your heart says, _beat_ by _beat_."

She gathered up her books, paying him no mind.

_Oh, sweet, unflappable Teach._

What she did next though had flawed him. As she walked passed him to leave, in a rare show of emotion, she had smiled, leaned over his desk and whispered words he would never forget:

"Pity for you my heart doesn't beat."

All he could do was... gape.

She had probably only meant to put him in his place but the jolt that passed through his body had rendered him speechless. Her smile had provoked a spread of warmth, through his arms, belly... and modesties. As she sauntered off, his curiosity had been more than a little piqued and his eyes were pinned to the sway of her hips as she left him, sitting alone in the empty seminar room.

_A captivating puzzle box indeed._

He thought before that it had just been her power to wield that sword, her genius at moving troops about the battlefield, or the mystery that surrounded her very existence that ensnared him so completely but it was more than that.

It was just... _her_.

_All of her. _

_Everything! _

The mind, the soul, the 'heart?' and the body that contained it all. He wanted to know everything about her and not just to satisfy his curiosity but to... feel close to her. Never had he ever wanted anyone for the sake of just wanting them... until that moment.

* * *

The Almyrans had been the last ones to arrive at the meeting. As always, it was held in the shared war-tent at the centre of camp... though it was admittedly more Byleth's secondary-dwelling than anything else, as being the venue for their liaison last night - as well as a few more nights previous - attested to.

As soon as Claude stepped inside, the delightful scent of chamomile greeted him. It surprised him a little as Byleth tended to prefer sweeter, brighter teas over earthy tones.

_Perhaps she knew we'd need help concentrating on this monotonous task?_

His eyes immediately fell upon Byleth. She was sitting all prim-and-proper, sipping delicately from her cup, the image of a virtuous lady and queen.

_Who would have thought you'd been naked in a cavern with me but an hour ago, my sweet star?_

The memory made his spine tingle.

Byleth was nestled between Leonie, (who had nabbed Seteth's old seat), and some old Faerghusian knight he didn't recognise. The orbicular table was occupied by a tight circle of Fódleans drinking in-tune with her, pinkies standing to attention. At the sight of the Almyran king, they all clambered to their feet reluctantly.

"So glad you could join us, Claude," Lorenz said curtly, already on his feet and picking up the half-full tea-pot.

"Love you too, Lorenz!"

A few of his commanders stiffened, not appreciating the lack of decorum afforded their king. One, in particular, named Sahm, vocalised it with a grumble in his local dialect, words that Claude was glad were not said in the _koine-glótta_.

Fittingly, his old school friend seemed to sense the tension and defused it with all the dignity one would expect of the 'scion of Gloucester'.

"Will you and your men be partaking, Your Royal Highness?"

"Thank you, we will," Claude chortled, walking around the table towards Byleth.

Following his lead, his eastern officers shuffled into place between the westerners. Most of Claude's men were home-grown, born and bred in Almyra, yet some old Alliance individuals had followed him when he handed the deeds over to Dimitri. Some were minor lords who had served House Riegan since the split from Faerghus and other were third- or fourth-sons with no inheritance to keep them in Fódlan. Yet even they had darkened in the strong prairie sun and arid desert heat compared to their chilly cousins who stayed home. It always made Claude smile to see them side-by-side.

In the end, everyone is just a person, the only difference is the environment.

Reaching the seat beside Byleth, Claude slipped carefully in between her and the gruff knight.

"Pardon me, my lord..."

He offered the rather grouchy-looking man a smile though even as he did, he knew it wouldn't land. Just by his 'I hate everything!' face, Claude could tell this was a knight moulded in the old world fashion where piety to Seiros equalled a natural dislike of outsiders, especially the invasive Almyrans. The next oldest person in the room was probably Nader though, unlike his old Master-at-Arms, this man was not young at heart. Claude almost felt sorry for him; completely outnumbered by a tent filled with bright young things with (hopefully) more open-minds.

Claude muttered into Byleth's ear:

"Remind me... this gentleman serves Count Rowe, right?"

He could tell by the shield he wore on his cape.

"Countess Rowe now," she hummed quietly, raising her hand to cover the conversation. "Sir Nera of Cumhal. He has just arrived with what levies could be spared from Arianrhod. You would have known that had you arrived five minutes earlier when I introduced him."

_Pardon me, I was scolding Nader for perving on you._

"We're a damn long way from Arianrhod, my friend. So, what's he doing here?"

"Dimitri," she responded stiffly. "He ordered him to bring his men here rather than Fhirdiad."

_No wonder Nera seems so grumpy_, Claude studied Nera's fatigued, world-weary face. "So, he's spent the last month marching his men through the Ogma Mountains, trying to catch up with us?"

"It seems so."

The King of Almyra felt uneasy hearing this.

_Do you know something I don't, Dimitri?_ he wondered. _You could have sent them to Garreg Mach, or let them stay tucked away in their fortress._ He would have to keep an eye on this... _I don't like the idea of a man like you having intel I've yet to pick up._

Byleth stood.

"Now that His Royal Highness has finally joined us, let us discuss the matter at hand," she began.

"Indeed," Leonie snorted, tapping the ledger. "Lorenz and I have been sitting on our backsides for ages waiting on you, Claude."

Only Sahm seemed taken aback by her familiarity with Claude this time as everyone else among the Almyrans managed to chuckle in fellowship at the huntress's gentle dress-down.

_I suppose I did keep them waiting a while, too. _

"Do forgive our tardiness, brothers - and sisters," Nader spoke for them. "His Royal Highness and Excellency can seldom face the day without a long, cool, refreshing bath."

Byleth's eyes fluttered a little, staring at the pretty white flower that floated there in her cup.

"Is dallying around in grottos part of his morning ritual, too?" Lorenz tacitly muttered, retaking his seat.

Claude's heart skipped a beat but he managed to keep his smile steady. He glanced at Byleth; her aurora-green eyes were hooded beneath her lashes, revealing nothing.

"Ahem, excuse me?"

"Don't try to act all innocent, Claude!" Leonie reprimanded him. "The Professor told us all about your silly antics, dragging her around that lakeside to scope out the caves. Just before the rain hit, too!"

Finding his voice again, he cleared his throat and smiled.

"I suppose you would have just sent Ashe and Cyril?"

"I wouldn't have minded going!" Ashe perked up immediately.

"If y'all have a problem with our work I'd prefer ya just say it," Cyril mumbled, arms folded.

Byleth offered the pair a reassuring smile, "It was rather impromptu, else we would have called upon you."

"Indeed," Claude nodded, focusing his gaze on Cyril especially. He'd always had a soft spot for the little guy who was not so little anymore. "You're peerless scouts but it helps for us supremos to get down in the dirt sometimes. To see the landscape for ourselves lest we forget what it's like and only start to see the world as inky lines on a piece of paper."

"How whimsical!" Lorenz remarked dismissively, picking up the ledger from beneath Leonie's grip. "If we could continue with the matter at hand? I trust Oswald and Sam have brought the tallies from the Almyran stock?"

"Sahm!" the Almyran snapped back. "Not 'Sam'. S_ah_m!"

Lorenz sighed patiently, "Pardon me, Sahm. Have you and Oswald brought the ledger?"

Oswald, the fourth son of a younger brother of Lord Goneril, nodded awkwardly. He gave Sahm a friendly pat on the shoulder, hoping to defuse his bad mood.

"He completed the count last night," the lad explained.

"Counted twice, one—" Sahm clarified, holding up his fingers, "—two! Understand that, _Glowcesster_?!"

Claude immediately choked back a laugh.

"It's pronounced Glou..." Lorenz began.

He stopped as soon as his eyes met Sahm's gesture. A small roll of laughter fluttered around the table as they noted Sahm had his fingers back-hand facing. Leonie stifled a chuckle and even Byleth had to hide her smile behind the rim of her cup.

It was an old Alliance hand gesture dating back to their break from the Empire. Flaunting the two fingers required to nock, draw and loose — the skill prized by all in the Alliance territories even today. Legend had it the Emperor at the time had feared Leicester archers so much he would cut their index and middle fingers off. Today, denizens of the Alliance - and the rest of Fódlan as a whole - knew it to essentially mean eff-you.

"Oh, how hilarious!" Lorenz said, rolling his eyes. "Did Sir Oswald teach you that one perchance?"

"King taught me," Sahm replied, pointing to Claude.

"Of course he did," Lorenz lamented.

"Ha, that's a good one, Claude!" Catherine bellowed cheerfully. He'd thought she might have been one of the injured who returned to Garreg Mach with Seteth but it seemed she was well on the road to recovery from that Bolting she took in the last battle.

Another titter spread across the table.

Claude raised his hands in admittance, "It's culture."

"It's rude!" Lysithea scolded.

"Yeah!" Cyril perked up, following her lead as always. "How 're we suppose' to work togeth'r if we're doing that. Can't we all just be nice to each other?"

Sahm looked at Cyril and laughed out: _"Albino girl says 'jump', that boy says, 'how high!'" _in his dialect.

The young lad's cheeks reddened, probably one of the few on the Fódlean's side who understood the words.

"No, no, Cyril has a point," Claude announced, deciding the teasing should stop. "It's bad enough we all have to be here for this rather dull part of warfare so the least we can do is get through it civilly... and quickly."

"Says the guy who put off this 'dull part of warfare' to show Lady Byleth a grubby cave!" Leonie rebuked him again. "That's another set of ruined garbs...!"

Byleth smiled apologetically, "I do struggle to keep my robes tidy at the best of times."

"If Seteth were here he'd have an aneurysm," the huntress concluded bluntly, before turning back to the guilty eastern king. "He'll feed you to his wyvern next time!"

"Not if mine eats him first!" Claude swiftly rebutted with a chuckle.

Sahm turned to Oswald, all scowls again.

"They feed wyvern our _king_?!"

"No, no, it was a joke," the minor Goneril knight tried to calm him down again, pointing desperately at Claude's smiling face. "See, the king is laughing!"

With that, the table began to break into a rumble of chatter again; only the long-suffering Sir Nera stayed silent.

Byleth gracefully rose to her feet again and tapped her spoon against the modest porcelain cup. Ring, ring, ring it went until the natter started to die down.

"Good," she said in her 'Teacher' (or _Please-stop-bickering-Hanneman-and-Manuela!_) voice, once all eyes were on her. "Now that I have your attention again, shall we proceed? As His Excellency to my left said, none of us particularly enjoy this task... well, except perhaps you, Lorenz."

The group laughed lightly, which the Count of Gloucester let wash over him. It was different when Lady Byleth was the one making the joke, after all.

"Now, now," she continued, patting down the chuckles. "Let's all try to get along. Just remember the sooner we start, the sooner we get to leave and do the things we want to do today..."

What we want to do, Claude repeated in his head, keeping his smile steady and his eyes safely glued to his cup of chamomile, else he probably would have looked up at her and all might have read his thoughts. What I wouldn't give to go back to that cave with you right now...

Byleth turned to Oswald.

"Why don't you and Sahm start? Is there anything you are running low on...?"

Despite Sahm's difficulty with the spoken language outside of his region's tongue, he was very good with numbers. He had assisted with his merchant father's accounts as a boy so he had developed a knack for them. He also seemed to share Leonie's dislike of wastefulness. No axe nor bow in their entire inventory was bad enough to be discarded, even when Nader argued otherwise.

Lorenz's notes were, of course, perfect. He went over how much they could spare from their provisions ahead of dividing some of their forces, should Jeralt's old company agree to assist.

"They will," Byleth said resolutely.

"Of course they will!" Leonie beamed. "They'd never refuse a request directly from the Blade Breaker's child."

Claude smirked. _You mean they wouldn't dare refuse the Ashen Demon._

With that, the provisions were done. Most at the attendees who were no longer required to remain happily left to get on with their lives and leave the archbishop, the king and the top commanders to continue reviewing the plan.

To Claude's relief, Sir Nera was one of those who shuffled to his feet.

"Lord Gaspard," his raspy voice called out to Ashe.

The young archer looked up, surprised to have been addressed as such despite having held the title for near-two years.

Despite technically outranking old Nera, he nodded his head respectfully.

"How might I be of assistance?"

"Once you are done here, I would be grateful if I could discuss something with you privately."

The knight eyed Cyril cautiously.

"O-Oh? Do you?"

Ashe glanced at Byleth with uncertainty, though she didn't catch his gaze.

"Yes, nothing serious mind you," Sir Nera added quickly, clearing his throat and drawing the younger man's attention back to him. "My niece insisted I speak to you myself since we would be crossing paths. Merely a discussion on the future of House Rowe and how House Gaspard might... assist."

_Subtle_, Claude thought, holding back a snort.

"Of course, I would be honoured to host you," Ashe replied with relief.

Any knight was a welcome visitor to him.

_It's sweet really._

Nodding stiffly to Claude, Nera then most graciously bowed his head to Byleth.

"I shall take my leave to help my men set up if you will permit me, Your Grace."

Byleth nodded, smiling benevolently."We are grateful that you came all this way. I am certain that your contribution will be invaluable."

"We are honoured to be in your presence and at your service, Most Radiant Grace and Highness."

Taking her hand, the old man placed a kiss upon the top before marching out with military rigour.

There was no way Claude would let this chance pass him by.

He grabbed her other hand and placed a smouch of his own upon it, quick enough for it not to seem strange, (at least as far as his old Golden Deer classmates would think was 'weird' from him), though he made sure to graze his teeth teasingly for his mistress's benefit.

"What next, Your 'Most Radiant' Grace?"

There was a light chuckle from some, a tut from others.

"Behave yourself, Your Royal Highness," she said rigidly, slowly easing her appendage away from his ensnarement. Despite sounding annoyed, she was biting back a smile.

"Indeed!" Lorenz sniffed nobly. "You know perfectly well that it would be considered a great insult for a sworn knight within the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus to enter or leave the presence of the Archbishop without kissing her hand."

"'Cultural sensitivity', Your Highness?" Nader flashed a smile.

"_When in Morfis, Nader, when in Morfis_," Claude winked back, then, he addressed Lorenz. "As for you, in Almyra, it is considered a great insult to not bend the knee when a king enters the room. I can't help but notice yours have remained unbent since I arrived. So, go on, get on your knees and bow your head, '_Glowcesster_'!"

Sahm cackled, slapping his knee.

Lorenz placed his hands on his hips.

"Do you insist, Your Royal Highness?"

They stared at each other for a few minutes before Claude shook his head. "Nah, you're fine. I'll settle for a refill."

He nodded and stood to make some fresh tea.

"Shall we stick to chamomile or switch to something sweeter, Your Grace?"

"Chamomile, if you please," Byleth said decisively.

Lysithea huffed.

"Well if you wouldn't mind I brought some sweet apple blend. Would you mind accommodating me? Oh, and add plenty of sugar! You have sugar, right? I need sugar for energy!"

"It's a good job I own multiple pots," Lorenz muttered, offering her a small yet brightly coloured red one with golden speckles and lining. It frankly looked good enough to eat! "Here, it will be as though you are drinking candied apples."

Byleth's face twisted in mild disgust. "You should try to eat and drink other things besides sweet, you know."

"I keep tellin' 'er that," Cyril said, holding his hands up in resignation. He would still share the pot with her as even a little one would be too much for her alone. "Glad I'm not picky."

"Why did you serve Chamomile anyway?" Lysithea sulked. "You usually love sweet teas! You have the best-honeyed teas!"

"Chamomile is better for concentration."

As Lorenz began to assemble round two of the teas, Sahm decided to make amends, getting to his feet and grunting out an "I help you!" to which the Count accepted gracefully.

"Well, well, Sir Nera himself has graced our camp," Lorenz continued, pouring out the fresh steaming tea into the king's cup. "I suppose recent circumstances have called him out of retirement."

"Oh?" Claude's interest piqued.

"Yes," Ashe nodded, tone sad but saying nothing else. It was only once everyone was served and they had huddled closer together around the map that he picked up the mantle of the conversation:

"Nera was the brother to the late Count Rowe's father. He was the youngest and never expected to inherit anything so he became a knight. Sadly, most of House Rowe died during the war. Now, Lady Aeifa holds Arianrhod. She was the daughter of Count Rowe's younger sister who married Lord Gwendal back when he was just Sir Gwendal. Sadly, Lady Serene died young leaving Aeifa as her only child. If she dies without children, it will go to Sir Nera before the line of Rowe is exhausted. Unless Yuri wanted to make a case for himself... though I doubt he's going to, and he's not exactly well-liked by those Lords sworn to the Rowes. So, unless Aeifa has a child to carry on the line I suppose Ariadrhod will fall back to Dimitri. Nera is now too old to have children, so I hear he is keen to see Aeifa married as soon as possible."

With another sigh, he stroked his chin and pondered.

"Huh, I wonder why they want to talk to me?" he finished, no hint of irony.

Claude shook his head but said nothing.

_Oh, Ashe! Sweet as honey, dim as pig-iron._

The look that passed between Cyril and Lysithea indicated they had both puzzled it out with no issue at all.

"Um, I think ya kinda answered ya own question there, right?" Cyril spoke slowly, eyes glancing around the table to check if everyone else who was listening had got the blatantly obvious hint.

_Heck, even Sahm probably picked up on it!_

"Have I?" Ashe asked, picking up his teacup. He looked to Byleth searchingly, who gave him an affectionate smile.

"We can talk about it later," she promised him.

"Indeed," Lorenz nodded knowingly. "Matrimonial matters can wait for now."

At the mention of that word Ashe spat his tea back into his cup and spluttered out a high-pitched 'what?!'

"But that can't really be what Nera wants, right?" the lad pressed. "I-I mean, I'm just a commoner!"

"No, you're Lord Gaspard," Claude corrected. "Frankly, as the young, nice-looking and unmarried Lord next door, I say this Lady Aeifa would be a fool not to be scoping you out."

Ashe's face changed then from shock to sadness. "But, I..."

His tone was filled with conflict. Of all people then, he looked to Catherine. Her brow was creased with rare concern as she patted the lad's shoulder. "Hey, hey... Aeifa's a nice girl. Maybe this is what you need? It has been nearly three years."

"But I can't!" the archer whispered. "It doesn't... feel right."

Claude could tell something had completely passed him by. Puzzled, he glanced at Byleth. She met his gaze briefly before turning to Ashe again. "We will talk about it later," she assured him. "You have my word... but first you should see what Nera has to say."

"I will," he said gloomily.

"Yeah," Cyril added with forced enthusiasm. "I mean, we might be wrong!"

"Even if we are right, don't reject the idea straightaway," Lysithea added quickly. "Just... you know, take your time."

"I will," Ashe nodded half-heartedly, seeming keen to distract himself from the torment wheeling around in his mind. "Please... let us talk about more important matters. Even if Jeralt's mercenaries do agree to assist us we still have to find a way to split our forces in such a way that the mages won't realise what we're doing."

"But how're we gonna do that?" Catherine queried. "Pincer movements have served us well in the past but they'll have wised up by now."

"Agreed," Lysithea spoke up, sipping her sickly-sweet tea. "By now, they've probably realised that we've figured out they're using the cave systems. Ashe and Cyril have scoped that area out-"

"As has Claude," Lorenz added tartly.

Claude rolled his eyes and leaned over to Byleth. "Why did you tell them that?"

"I had to tell them something," she whispered back with a coy smile. "Since there were no believable lies, I thought honesty was the best policy."

_Perhaps you're right_, he acknowledged. _It didn't matter if they knew where we were - it's what we were doing that must remain secret._ _For now._

"Maybe we could use the fact that they know that we know against them," Leonie chimed in, resting her chin upon her hands to look over the map. "If they're gonna be double, even _triple_, checking what we're doing we'll have to _quadruple_, even... whatever checking something five times is-!"

"Quintuple," Lorenz advised.

"Or 'pentuple', if you prefer!" Lysithea added, trying to one-up him. "Like a pentagon!"

"Right!" she nodded. "Y'know, if we want to lure them out in the open."

"Perhaps we bait 'em?" Cyril suggested.

"Like with food?" Oswald said uncertainly.

The table sniggered at that.

"We're more likely to bring out demonic beasts than the mages, my young friends," Lorenz chuckled. "We are talking about humans not the mindless fish at Garreg Mach."

Sahm gave Oswald a friendly jolt with his elbow then and humorously repeated the word "like fish", while the young knight tapped his cheek, pondering.

"What do cave-dwelling people eat anyway - moss, maybe?"

"I don't think so," Ashe whispered, before uttering to Cyril that he "has a good point." His voice was drowned out by Nader's cackling, though.

"Perhaps we could even use a carrot on a stick!"

Lysithea scowled, "I challenge you to come up with a better suggestion!"

For his part, Claude was fixated on what Cyril had said.

He exchanged a glance with Byleth, who nodded in agreement. An unspoken understanding passed between them as she rose again to shh the room.

"Simmer down, everyone!" she called over them in a sing-y-songy voice.

"_Yeeeessss_," Claude added in the same tone. "Fun-time is over now, everyone shut-_up!_"

As the group settled, Byleth retook the floor:

"Let's regroup... if we want to stop these enemies once and for all, we need to block off their means of escape with a double envelopment. Before we do that, however, we need to get them away from the cave systems. Fish jokes aside, tricking them into the open with 'bait' isn't a bad idea."

Catherine leaned back in her chair, brow creased, "A feint, huh?"

"It seems like the most logical route," Byleth deduced.

"Though Ashe and Leonie are right," Claude added, tone worrisome. "These guys have not been having a good time as of late. They'll be sextuple checking everything we do... so trying to draw them into a conventional battle with a traditional feint probably won't work. Question is, how do we lead them into a false sense of security?"

He had meant the question to be rhetorical but no one made any suggestions. Not even a squeak. With a sigh, Claude tapped his fingers against the table.

"Looks like that's my homework, Teach," he muttered.

"I'll help you," Byleth promised.

Her words were a secret code that promised so much more.

_I certainly hope so, my stars-above._


	4. After Hours

**Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.**

**Be advised that the central plot of this story focuses on adultery. I completely respect that this is not for everyone. If you find any of these subject matters uncomfortable or upsetting please don't read.**

**Edits: [18/June/2020] Tweaked a few chronological errors I made.**

* * *

**After Hours**

_Nineteenth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

They agreed that the army would be on the move soon, though who was doing what was still up in the air.

That would be Claude's task tonight, and he resigned himself to the fact that he would likely be up until the wee hours of the morning ironing out the kinks of this plan. Eyeing the map as Byleth called the meeting to an end, he tried to envision how they could draw out the mages from the cave systems without giving up the bulk of the army's position or losing the high ground.

Whoever led the deceptive-battalion would be putting themselves at risk, going down the narrow pathway through the valley and leaving themselves open to any enemies lurking above.

_It will have to be someone experienced_, he decided. _Perhaps even myself._

Still, it wasn't just a risky manœuvre for their 'glorified bait'. Claude would need to consider the size of the battalion as well. Too small a party go unnoticed altogether while too large a party would be an easy target. Either way, it would be hard to make it look natural, to create a justifiable situation where they would believably move troops into such a vulnerable position.

_Any strategist worth their salt will see it's a trap_, he laboured, scowling at the offending road that snaked through the cliffs to the nearest village where Jeralt's old mercenaries were. _We already intended to use them so, maybe—?_

He looked up, noticing the formation of his men.

It was ridiculous to their king's eyes; before the Almyrans filed out, they all made a point to mimic the smooch Claude had left upon Byleth's hand. Whether they were sharing in the joke or genuinely worried about disrespecting her, one-by-one, they lined up to kiss her knuckles Especially after Nader rounded up the stragglers who hadn't got into the queue before bringing up the rear himself.

After little Ozzie awkwardly kissed the holy knuckles, Sahm provided his clumsy offering.

"I not impolite as Glosscesster think!" he muttered as he turned away.

The young steward threw Lorenz a pout and Leonie a nod of camaraderie before vacating the tent.

After a few more dilly-dalliers, Byleth found herself face-to-face with the doughty form of Almyra's foremost general. Taking her hand in a gentlemanly manner, utterly clashing with his outward appearance, Nader the Undefeated's kiss was so chivalric it was worthy of any Faerghusian knight.

Claude lurked behind him, watching with suspicion.

"Thank you once again for hosting this meeting, Your Grace," the older man said with a grin.

He chose a fairer timbre than usual, Claude noted. Nader had a gift for switching from casual to formal tones, from the koine-glótta to High Fódlean, as well as any number of the Almyran dialects that made up the members of Claude's army and the 'Low Fódlanish' spoken by the outline villagers that made up the lower ranks of Byleth's. He even boasted a little Mofisian, too — a surprisingly cosmopolitan man.

"It was a pleasure to have hosted you, Nader," Byleth said distractedly, half-noticing Claude hovering over his shoulder.

"It's a pleasure to be in your presence, my lady," Nader continued blithely. "I swear you light up the day of every man in this camp just by standing there!"

"I am humbled that you think so."

"No need for humility — I can see why His Royal Highness and Excellency thinks so highly of you. The Wise One's flame burns so brightly in your heart."

Byleth nodded with understanding.

The Wise One was the primordial god of the Almyran pantheon. Claude had explained his people's god to her once when their pillow-talk had drifted onto a theological path. 'He' was sometimes called the 'Wise Lord', though when translated into the common tongue 'It' was a more apt pronoun since It had no defined shape, certainly not like the Goddess. The Wise One was ever-present throughout all-time, existing before creation of the world or a single star shone in the sky. It was the very spirit of humanity, the mysterious power of the lesser gods, and burned at the centre of all things.

"It sounds more like a... force of nature than a god," had been Byleth's curious response.

"That's an apt way to describe 'It'," he had laughed

Thinking about it, for Nader to have brazenly claimed the power of the Wise One existed within the avatar of the Goddess could be seen as disrespectful.

_Good thing Byleth couldn't care less._

It was endlessly ironic to him that a woman raised isolated from the church now held the position of Archbishop. Having Sothis inside her unbeating heart had killed the mystique of the Church and Goddess for Byleth. Rather than the unearthly beauty who watched benevolently from the Blue Sea Star, Sothis was confined to her reincarnation, lecturing her like an overbearing grandmother, though Byleth said she looked like a child no more than twelve.

Poor Balthus had been so disappointed about that, and no one had the heart to tell Ignatz.

That aside, the Sothis of Byleth's description seemed like a 'good sport' when it came to people's quirks and would have been somewhat amused that the overly friendly Almyran had compared her Crest of Flames to the fravashi'atar itself.

Nader sighed wistfully.

"I swear if I were twenty years younger-"

"Will you cut it out, Nader?" Claude groaned, looming to one side with an exasperated frown.

The older man ignored him, a glint in his eyes:

"-I'd sling you over my shoulder and carry you back over Fódlan's Throat before that husband of yours could even bat an eyelid!"

Byleth maintained unflinching stoniness on her face as she eyed Claude over Nader's muscular shoulder. The Almyran king released an exasperated sigh, mouthed an 'I'm sorry for...' and indicated his old master-at-arms.

She managed a faint smile.

"Aha, but, my apologies!" the older man carried on, clearing his throat. "That is a highly inappropriate comment to make about a woman of the cloth. Do forgive me! Master Claude, that is, His Royal Highness has been trying to clamp down on that sorta talk."

"Has he?" Byleth queried, sounding surprised. "It's not like you to care what people say, Claude."

"Some of them were a little too below the belt, Your Grace," he replied stiffly, not wanting to go over exactly how and why.

The last thing Claude wanted was to upset her - and she seemed to accept his answer, that it was perhaps better not to ask.

Byleth had shown a fragile side of herself to him when she had told him of her struggles in conceiving a child. A precious Blaiddyd heir. Not even one who bore a crest — just a child of the blood. With Rufus dead, the line was weak. Fódlan had made strides towards giving power to the people; they would need a strong figurehead of indisputable Blaiddyd blood to avoid another war. Elective monarchies never lasted, after all. If Dimitri died without issue, they would have to fish through the family tree to find the closest relative on the female line to take on the Blaiddyd name.

_Go back far enough, and they'll eventually get to me_, Claude thought amusedly.

He was a distant relative on both the male and female line, after all. It was strange sometimes to remember that he and Dimitri were kin. House Riegan was founded as a cadet branch of House Blaiddyd and over the centuries then several daughters of the royal blood of Faerghus had married the then-Duke Riegan. Even the Crest of Blaiddyd cropped up now and then within the family tree - Claude's own mother being one example.

Despite her belief their childlessness was her 'fault', Claude encouraged her to take the tinctures he mixed for after their liaisons. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the possibility that, well, that it isn't you. So, humour me."

He found his eyes drifting down to her waist now, contemplative.

_Could we make a child together?_

The thought had crossed his mind several times.

He slipped a hand into his pocket to clasp today's vial, a sad sigh on his lips.

_I guess we'll never know._

"Well, your words have not offended me, my lord," Byleth continued, turning back to Nader. "They're amusing. It's been a long time since any man attempted to 'sling me' over his shoulder and carry me off anywhere, let alone another country!"

To that, Nader laughed.

"Don't tempt me, Your Grace!" he winked. "I was never one to pass up such a challenge."

He left the conversation on that note as he turned to Claude, bowing his head.

"Your Royal Highness, we should depart soon. We're behind on getting the freshly recovered back in tip-top shape, and if you truly do intend to march soon, I recommend you oversee the training yourself. For the sake of morale, if nothing else."

"Of course," Claude agreed. "All and sundry know how much my men 'adore' me."

_More like they don't want to get on the wrong side of me. _

For a good reason, too. One did not earn the title of _'xsahxsahran'_ for giving second or third chances. Claude had afforded a single opportunity during the War of Succession to bend the knee and join his fight for unity. He had also promised that if they ever caused discord in his xasahrate again, they would receive a quick and clean death by shamshir; nothing more or less, and no second chances. They knew he meant it, too: several khans in the far east had already met such a fate.

"Very well, go on ahead and get them ready. I wish to share a few words with the Archbishop before I leave." A pause. "Private words."

Nader rolled his eyes.

"Sure ya do," he muttered.

He offered Byleth one last bob of the head before he strode out of the tent with a grace that seemed uncharacteristic for his form.

Finally, they were alone.

"I think he said all those things just to rile me up," Claude said without much thought.

His words startled Byleth, her head snapping to look at him so quickly she winced. "Does he know about us?!"

That was a good question.

"Let's talk about this in the study," he answered, indicating the nearby partition behind which they had enjoyed one another last night.

Softly, Byleth followed.

His jaw remained tight until she had placed the partition back across, concealing them.

"In short, I don't know," he confessed. "Maybe he knows for certain, suspects the truth or is just trying to wind me up. It's not clear."

Claude ran a hand through his hair, shrugging uncertainly.

"Nader's subtlety is virtually non-existent. I don't know what to do when he's like this. Usually, he'd lecture me-"

"Lecture you?"

"Well, not in the way Lorenz or Ingrid do where they make you want to leap out a window rather than endure. But he does have that way of showing disappointment without raising his voice. A bit like Seteth."

She folded her arms, not exactly brimming with confidence. "You know, I didn't just send Seteth away because I needed him back at Garreg Mach.

"Hm? I figured it was because he was driving you insane with his desire to control everything around you," he tried to joke.

"Yes," Byleth nodded. "He was trying to control everything around me. More so than usual."

She didn't have to say anymore. Claude knew what she was implying - Seteth suspected or outright knew they were having an affair.

"Has he said anything to you...?"

"No, but he doesn't need to. Seteth's not as subtle as he thinks. What about Nader? Has he said anything?"

"Oh, a lot," he admitted.

Slowly, he closed the gap between them.

"I don't know for certain if he knows about us... but one thing he does know is how I feel about you. It seems for all my attempts to keep my smile steady and my feelings masked, I can't hide how much I adore you from someone who's known me as long as he has," he chuckled with resignation.

Byleth blinked. "Has he guessed my feelings in all of this?"

"I don't think he has quite as good a read on you." He took her by the forearm to pull her against him. "Not many people do."

He pressed a long, soft kiss atop her crown. Her skin so warm that his heart fluttered. Byleth wrapped her arms around his neck, taking a deep breath against his chest. Yet when they parted her brow twisted in concern and her hands fell upon his shoulders, rubbing them gently.

"You feel tense."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

She circled from his front to his back.

"Is something wrong?" Byleth asked.

Had Nader got to him that much? Was he anticipating the tactical task at hand? Byleth had promised to assist him, but he felt a sense of foreboding about the idea, one that he couldn't quite put his finger on yet.

Or perhaps, possibly, feasibly, having sex standing up without proper support had not been the best idea, no matter how good it felt at the time.

"Nope," he finally croaked out, a little higher pitched than intended. "Just the weight of the world on my shoulders and all."

"Hmph."

Claude flinched a little as she pressed her hands upon a tender point, though it was a pleasant ache. It made him think of the many other times she had dug just her fingertips into his bare flesh or heels into the small of his back.

Always 'kneading' me.

"Careful, my stars-above. Someone might walk in on us."

"I'm rubbing your shoulders!" she retorted immediately. "I've done this for Seteth-"

"Is that so, should I be jealous?"

"Hush! For Leonie and Ingrid, too," she continued. "I used to do it for my father, and others in our company. I'd happily do it for anyone who needed it. Even Nader if he asked nicely—!"

Claude thought of his earlier conversation with his old master-at-arms. "Dear Lord, don't let him hear you say that. You'd never get rid of him!"

"My point is," she whispered so close into his ear it made him tremble. "I'd offer to do this for you, even if we weren't lovers."

"Oh?"

Byleth hummed in response.

He reached behind him, his hand naturally resting upon the small of her back.

"On the other hand that," she continued, pressing a little into his touch, "would warrant a slap in other circumstances."

"What if I want you to slap me?" he snickered devilishly.

"You'd want me to hurt you?"

She didn't sound too surprised.

"Well, you know what I like..."

There certainly had been times where their love-play had got a little frisky. When he had her pinned beneath him, utterly engulfed by pleasure, the scores she left upon his back were strangely stimulating. He encouraged her to nibble, bite or even choke his neck a little. Not always, never too hard, but sometimes it helped ground him.

He shifted his hand to cup her rump to squeeze her. Her breath hitched, and fingers dug deeper into the cord of his shoulder.

"For that, I would have had your hand. Good luck notching an arrow after that!"

"Thank the gods I live in the reality that doesn't result in severed limbs, then. Besides, I'm not suggesting you break my jaw. Just y'know, a little smack?"

He winked.

"I know you appreciate that."

He gave her a little spank.

A small delighted squeak escaped her lips before the light scold of, "Claude!" and the 'light slap' he was seeking upon his cheek followed. The light prickling of his skin felt invigorating, especially when he felt her mouth pressing kisses into the thick cloth of his garbs.

_I wish it were my bare skin! _

Earlier was still lucid in his mind. That position had been tricky and may have knotted his back, but he would never complain, not after hearing that incredible screech that had erupted from Byleth's lungs. It had been so intense, raw, positively bestial. Remembering it was making him hard.

He wanted her again.

For a moment, he wondered if she would let him throw her onto the same sheets as last night's tussle, or hoist her up onto the map-table for a quickie, like the night before last...

_Probably not right now._

Instead, he gave her another spanking.

Claude found himself spinning around to face her and engulfed in a kiss that was long and deep. The stiffness in his britches pushed against her provoked an enthralled gulp in between the meeting of their lips.

"Feeling better?" she asked huskily.

"Hm, much," he laughed back. "Though this better not be part of your regular 'massage deal', my stars-above. I'll get jealous if it is."

"Only you get this privilege," Byleth promised, capturing his bottom lip as she pressed against his arousal.

_Only me._

Even as he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, the usual thoughts came to him. What about that husband of yours? Yet he would never have said it aloud and spoil the moment. He wasn't an idiot. Dimitri wasn't even part of the equation in Byleth's mind right now, but he was never far from Claude's.

_If only that weren't the case. _

_If only you were mine and mine alone, not just as a lover but my wife and queen. _

_If only we had infinite time together. _

If only: the constant mantra of his brain.

After a long pause, he gripped her elbows to better look at her.

"Before I go, we'd best agree on when and where we will devise our scheme, my stars-above. You promised to help and..." He lowered his lips to graze the soft skin of her neck. "I don't think I can wait much longer than tonight to be with you again."

"Given the number of knots in your back, I figured you'd be all... tuckered out."

"Ha, perish the thought!"

_I'm only twenty-five for gods' sake!_

Despite being younger than her, Claude had overtaken her in physical age now. Though she had grown her hair out a little and tended to wear the haughty robes of the archbishop over her old garbs now, Byleth was otherwise frozen in time as a twenty-one-year-old woman. He, on the other hand, was hitting his quarter-life crisis having pulled a muscle during sex and was now too proud to admit it, despite her having all but guessed.

"If anything, I'm more raring to go than before," Claude concluded.

"You're insatiable; you know that?"

"You know you can just tell me to stop if you don't want to."

He closed his mouth over her pulse as it hammered faster and faster, making her moan. The breath that escaped her chest was intoxicating, as was the sensation of her fingers twirling through his hair.

"I'd be with you always if I could be," she quavered.

That ardent confession made him convulse with want, the satisfaction of hearing her say it aloud was palpable to him. As though his love flowed through him as steadily as the blood through his veins.

Her hand gripped the front of his tunic.

"Will you take tea in my quarters tonight?"

His eyes snapped open.

"Regular tea or...'tea'?"

Clarification was necessary: 'taking tea' was swiftly becoming their code for 'frantic, unabashed lovemaking' after all.

She gazed up at him, a glint in her eyes. "Both, if you're thirsty enough."

He coughed back a laugh... then processed the tail-end of her invitation. "This evening in your quarters?"

She nodded.

Since the campaign began, Claude had taken boring, old, regular tea in Byleth's tent several times but always during daylight and often with Seteth standing watch. It had undoubtedly given him renewed respect for Flayn as the most he had managed to do was hold Byleth's hand, hidden beneath the veil of the tablecloth.

_Hopefully, she's managed to get her end away with Ignatz before we cruelly sent Seteth home._

Even with Scowls-a-lot gone, there would still be plenty of Church of Seiros monks, nuns and guards milling around.

"Are you... sure that's wise?" Claude finally asked.

"Are you saying no?"

The look she gave him then was so sultry that the promise of a night with her outweighed every legitimate concern he had about such a daring venture.

He tilted his head in interest.

"I have to admit, the thought of having you in your bed is... too good to pass up."

They had been lovers for a while now but sharing a bed had always been difficult to arrange. They had done it but not for a while and never in the camp. Thinking about it, the last time had occurred when—

_No time for nostalgi_a, Claude scolded himself. He had to consider the logistics of this. A feint and a romp. Both his body and mind would be working overtime tonight.

"But how are we to spend tonight together and not raise eyebrows?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've 'schemed' your way into my bed."

"There's a difference between that and... this, By."

Sneaking into her chambers at Garreg Mach or getting her into his was a piece of cake once they had worked out which secret passage went where. Before that, he had flown Jamilah up to the star terrace to 'take tea' with the Archbishop. Now, the war tent was the one place in the entire camp where they had 'just cause' to request time alone to discuss super-secret plans and strategies. Thus, it was the usual venue for their liaisons.

"I'm not saying no, my stars. I'm not-it's just... what will we tell your guard?"

He noticed another glimmer in her eyes.

"As it happens, the man on duty tonight is an old friend."

"Friend?"

"Do you recall that overenthusiastic gatekeeper from Garreg Mach?"

"Not Mr 'Greetings, nothing to report!' himself?" Claude said, mimicking the tone impeccably. "I'm not sure about that particular guard protecting you, my stars-above. I wouldn't trust him to defend his own shadow, let alone you! An enemy could sneak passed him with the bare minimum of deception."

She shook her head, beaming.

"That's the point - I picked him specifically for his... gullibleness."

Claude cocked an eyebrow.

"A rather risky play if the enemy attacks tonight."

"I am my own guard," Byleth assured him. "Besides, I'll have my crafty Almyran king to protect me, too, won't I?"

She leaned in closer, breath warm against his temple.

"Unless..." she continued, voice susurrate, "the mighty mind of the gatekeeper of Garreg Mach is too sharp even for you, so-called 'Master Tactician'?"

Claude knew Byleth was being facetious, but his chest swelled at the provocation.

Very well, I'll play this game.

"Is that a challenge?" he growled back into her ear. "You think a smart, charming and charismatic genius such as myself would have problems masterminding my own 'subterfuge' to get passed that fool and reap the rewards of your bed?"

His teeth caught her lobe.

"Believe me. I'll not disappoint you."

He moved in to kiss her again - but Byleth placed a hand over his mouth.

"I'm off. You have men to train, and I have duties to tend to."

"Wah!" Claude whinged childishly, jokily, into her palm before kissing it, for lack of her lips.

"Wipe that look off your face!" she reprimanded him gently. "I am the archbishop, lest you forget. Circumstances as they are I have been neglecting my 'sacred duty' to my 'flock' so I have plenty of... 'shepherding' to catch up on."

They both chuckled. Byleth's Rhea-impression could use some work but still, it made Claude smile.

"Hopefully," Byleth sighed, slowly walking towards the exit and back into the outside world. "You will meet my challenge, and I will see you tonight."

Knowing that fool gatekeeper would be there had put his mind at rest somewhat. Still, he would need to be careful that word of this 'meeting' didn't lend way to gossip about the nature of their relationship. Especially now there were new faces in the camp, brought in by Nera. Of all the schemes he had to hand, Claude decided that there was one he could use at such short notice.

_I hope I have the ingredients. _

* * *

_Third-day of the Ethereal Moon, the Year 1180._

After the tragedy of Remire Village, Claude could sense a disturbance in Byleth's character.

The days following the event had taken the wind out of her. There she was, a woman renowned for being an emotionless husk utterly weighed down by the disaster. The deaths of the villagers were plaguing her. Maybe it was the first time she watched acquaintances who were civilians die, or her heart really did beat.

_She was being metaphorical_, he had decided. _That's the only reasonable explanation._

It was a night shortly after that he finally found the courage to seek her out. He found her in the Blue Lion's form-room, sitting upon the windowsill and staring out at the dusk as it left the world to darkness, all alone but for a pair of candles burning low near her desk.

Her expression was nostalgic, with a hint of sorrow.

In short, she looked like she could use a drink.

The creak of the door as he closed it against the winter winds gained her attention, eyes widening very slightly when she saw him.

"Claude?"

"Evening, Teach," he replied as chipperly as possible. He hoped the slight break in his voice went unnoticed as he made his approach.

"Did you need something?"

"Nope, I just came to see how you were."

Byleth blinked, one of the few ways surprise registered on the stony-faced maiden.

"I'm fine."

"Really? You look sad to me."

"Do I?"

"You do."

He took a step closer, into the light, keeping his right arm firmly behind his back. Byleth's eyes instinctively focused on it, watching him cautiously.

"What do you-?" she began.

"Here," Claude then revealed the wine bottle he had been secreting behind his back. "I often find this helps after a particularly gruesome battle."

Byleth's eyes widened.

"Where did you even get that?"

"Local tavern... so, don't expect it to be 'the good stuff'."

"I hope you haven't been sharing it with the younger students!"

"Of course not!" he assured her, pulling the cork out. "It's just for us adults."

"You're barely an adult, Claude." She was kind enough not to scoff as she said it.

"Nah-uh," he jokily pouted back.

To that, she did manage a brief smile.

_At least she still has her sense of humour._

"You're not _that_ much older than me," he added defensively, handing her the bottle. "Do you have any cups?"

Byleth slipped off the windowsill, nodding. "I really shouldn't be condoning this, though."

"I won't tell Seteth if you don't."

"Fortunately, he's too busy scrutinising Manuela to bother with me."

He watched as she leaned down to open a cupboard under her desk. Inside, he noticed several simple cups and a particularly strong ale.

"Huh, do you usually drink on the job?"

Byleth's head popped out, shocked. "I wouldn't dream of it! This is my dad's."

She set out the two cups.

"I'll be mother," Claude declared, pouring it out. "But yeah, I hear Jeralt likes his drink—"

"I would never drink before taking a class!" Byleth stated, unprompted and defensive. Too defensive, some might say.

_My Teach doth protest too much methinks._

It was almost as if she was channelling Manuela. That, or there had been an occasion where said the senior professor had somehow twisted her junior colleague's arm into taking the tiniest sip of something during lunch.

_Not that I'd blame her; anyone would need a drink listening to Manuela's latest heartbreak for the umpteenth time._

He didn't push it any further.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry I ever implied it."

She sniffed, "Good."

They each took a cup and clanked them together without a word.

It was a sour red. A part of Claude longed for the rich, almost spicy vintages of the south-west of the Alliance or the wines found back home in Almyra. They were much more pleasant to discuss intrigue or gossip over than the local wines that were grown at the base of the Oghma Mountains.

_This will have to do, though._

After the first sip, Claude placed the clay mug down, along with his metaphorical cards, on the table.

"Now, I might be presuming too much," he began slowly, "but I figured you'd be feeling a little down given what happened in Remire."

Her posture stiffened, her expression sombre. Everyone knew that Teach didn't cry, but the pain oozed off of her. It was remarkable how one so restrained could be so expressive with her body.

Quickly, she turned to look out the window.

_Avoiding my eyes._

"It was awful, but I have seen much worse, Claude."

"So?" he shrugged. "That doesn't mean this can't shake you and you, Teach, appear shook."

Byleth tilted her head.

"I don't think anyone has ever told me I look 'shook' before. I'm not even sure what it's supposed to look like."

A half-smile cracked her lips, breaking into a tale in that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his.

"Even before I was deemed old enough to fight in my father's company, I'd watched him serve justice in the name of this lord or that countless times. It's strange, Claude. I'd thought I'd seen the worst of humanity. From petty theft to brutal bandits. Robbery, rape and murder. The first man I ever killed promised he'd do all of those things to me, in that order, so I stabbed him in the belly with my dirk. I was eleven."

Claude grimaced. _Teach had never said so much in one go, and it was so raw! _"That sounds-!"

"Horrific," she answered, sipping the wine again. "There's no other way to describe it."

Such things were common in Almyra too. Although the khans and emirs were supposed to be sworn to his father, they always fought among themselves. Claude's grandfather had done all he could to reign them in, but as he grew older, his influence dwindled until his father seized the throne. Yet Claude was not blind to his old man's failure; the further afield the khanate or emirate was, the harder it was for his parents to reign in the unruly rulers. They were laws unto themselves. Ravaging settlements, slaughtering men, ravishing women and forcing axes into the hands of the children to become warriors in place of those lost, before moving on. The life cycle of an Almyran — no wonder Cyril didn't remember it fondly.

_I'll change that_, Claude told himself. If he wished to see his dream of a land without borders, then putting all of Fódlan together wouldn't be enough. He would have to return to Almyra and bring them to heel, too. _I will 'nag' my homeland into my new world kicking and screaming if I have to._

Byleth swirled the wine in her cup.

"I always thought of Remire as a place safe from all of that."

"Did you grow-up in Remire, Teach?"

"I didn't grow-up anywhere, really," she explained, taking a deep drink. "But Remire was the closest thing to 'home', for sure. It was where we returned to in-between jobs. When I was a child, my father would leave me there if he had a mission too dangerous to take me on. It seemed like such a serene place. So, when I saw the villagers - people I knew all my life - ripping each other apart, I..."

Her mouth clamped shut, never finishing her thought.

Claude took another drink.

"I... figured it had to be something like that," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"No, I know, but I'm still sorry that you're hurting. It must be hard to process all of this while having to keep a steady face for the lion cubs, huh?"

Byleth smiled sadly at the way he had described her class as 'cubs'.

"True."

"I have spent a lot of time cultivating the perfect poker face to keep in such emotions. I think you always try hard to do the same, but it takes one insightful mind to see into another's. With you, the gusto has gone from your voice."

"Gusto?" Byleth bleated, ostensibly amused. "My voice has been described in many ways and having 'gusto' isn't one of them."

"Well, yeah, most of the time, your intonation is pretty... cool," Claude acknowledged. There was a strange duality about Teach's voice, being eerily calming to the ears yet matter-of-factly cold in inflexion. Except when she was instructing her students. "When you're directing the battlefield or teaching a seminar, you seem to 'come to life.'"

"Is that so?"

"It is." Then followed a coy smile as he added, "You've become pretty expressive, y'know."

"My father told me the same thing recently."

"Well, he would know better than anyone. I often wish I could bask in the wonderful cadence of your instruction more often. If only you were the form-teacher for the Golden Deer. I could revel in it daily."

With a sigh, Byleth picked up the wine bottle again for a top-up. "If only, indeed," she muttered under her breath. Claude wouldn't have heard her were his ears not honed to whispers.

For a moment, he dared to hope that there was an ounce of regret that she hadn't picked his house to teach. She had picked him after they had seen off those bandits, but Claude knew with Dimitri and Edelgard circling her like starving vultures, she probably said the last thing she remembered. Still, he had been confident she would prefer his crew over Dimitri's and unquestionably Edelgard's. It bugged him that he didn't know why she chose the Blue Lions over the Golden Deer.

_Maybe one day I'll ask her but now isn't the time._

"Hm, this is quite nice considering," Byleth said, shaking the bottle.

"A good, strong house red can take the edge off even the most stressful days, my friend."

She blinked.

"Friend?"

"Sorry, is that too brazen of me? Too informal?"

"You address me as 'Teach'," Byleth replied bluntly. "I expect brazenness and informality from you."

"Does it bug you?"

"Not at all. I wish more of my students would speak so freely."

"Yet 'friend' irks you?"

"It doesn't irk me," Byleth assured him. "I'm just surprised you would address me as such."

"Why?"

"You don't seem like the type to count your friends."

He didn't know what to say to that.

Claude never had many friends growing up - always relying on himself. When he said someone was a "friend" he could just as easily have said: "stranger". There were only a handful of people he could truly call "friend" and calling Teach that was probably wishful thinking on his part.

He was starting to feel nervous, growing more conscious of the feelings that had spurred him to come to her this evening at all.

That day in the classroom, when he finally realised what desire was. Since then, it had been hard to even look at her without feeling that burst of passion again.

Then, the aching regret that he couldn't be closer to her.

If it weren't so inappropriate, he would try to be more than friends with her. He wondered how she would react if he were to flirt with her, or flat out try to seduce her.

_Dream on! I wouldn't have the first clue what I'm doing.  
_  
He was nothing more than a clumsy virgin with too much lip, and he knew it, but he couldn't help approach her, hoping to see a spark of something for him in her eyes also.

The only person who saw straight through him was Yuri.

_"Nursing a crush on the teacher, are we?"_

_"I dunno, are 'we'?"_

_"Well, I wouldn't kick her outta bed. I doubt Edelgard or Dimitri would, either."_

Claude must have winced ever so slightly, as Yuri refused to drop the subject.

_"Desire is easy to satiate; love is not,_" he continued. _"Word of advice, you can wait until you've graduated to tell her but don't keep it in forever."_

_"Not sure what you're getting at there, 'friend'."_

His senior chuckled.

_"You're adorable. And quick. Easily my favourite of the three house leaders this year, not that you have much competition, mind. I can see you're a late bloomer when it comes to these things, which is fair enough. You were probably too busy avoiding murder plots as the 'xsahzahde' of Almyra and the rampant racism against 'ahmixtan' to care about getting your dick wet, right?"_

It had been weird enough hearing the High Almyran terms for 'heir presumptive' cross that guy's lips, let alone one of the slurs used to described people of a 'mixed ethnicity' in his homeland. Claude barely had time to process how he had even managed to deduce his race, origin and lack of experience with women before Yuri imparted his last pearl of wisdom, the one Claude remembered best:

_"Tell her before it's too late. If there is one person with less experience with love than you, it's our pretty Professor."_

He pushed the memory out of his mind as Byleth spoke again.

"I'm sorry. That came out wrong," she muttered guiltily, taking another sip. "_I_ never had friends growing up. At best, there were people in the company who didn't avoid me as a rule. So, I'm probably just projecting."

Cautiously, he looked to her again.

"No, you surmised correctly," Claude admitted, a little sadly. "There are very few I can genuinely count among my friends. Even my own house see me more as the 'leader' or, in Lorenz's case a 'pest', than a buddy. I swear if he weren't such a nice guy, I'd call him a plain jerk. That aside-my entire life people treated me like an outsider. An oddity."

"Hm-hm, I can relate to that."

"I..." he couldn't help but smile. Genuinely. "I figured you would."

Byleth nodded.

"I've always found it hard to express myself," she confessed, twirling the cup. "So, people treated me differently. It's changed since I came here. I've not consciously tried to be more emotional or expressive or to talk more; it's just sorta awoken in me."

She placed her hand on her heart. A brief pause later, as if considering a thought, she smiled.

"Quite literally, in a way."

Claude's eyes stared on her hand.

"Say Teach," he began curiously. She looked at him, her blue eyes warmer than once they seemed. "You know that thing you told me before. You were just joking, right?"

"Thing?"

"About... your heart."

She blinked, then remembered.

"Oh! I see, is it that you want to check?"

If his cheeks hadn't been pink before, they surely were now.

"Ha-_Hahaha_, well, that probably wouldn't be very appropriate, would it?"

Byleth stared at him as if she didn't understand, hand still firmly placed in the valley of her chest. "Wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, I mean, well, y'know—" he spluttered.

Claude shifted his weight from one foot to another, desperately trying not to stare at her breasts.

_Dear gods, they're fantastic! _Even before the heartbeat-question came up, he had wondered what they looked liked, whether they were as bouncy, pillowy and soft as his fantasies during his 'alone times'—

_Dear Lord, brain stop! Stopstopstopstop, please stop!_

He decided the only safe place to look at her was dead in the eyes, so his gaze rose, pleading for mercy, only to see she was smirking.

A cold-burning sensation passed through him.

_Is she teasing me? _

Funnily enough, that thought made him feel calmer.

He found his voice again.

"—I mean, I could take your pulse, instead?"

"Oh, I have a pulse," Byleth replied earnestly. "Just no heartbeat."

Claude cocked an eyebrow. "That's impossible. You can't have a pulse but no heartbeat. The whole point of a heart is to push blood through your arteries. Literally! That's what causes pulses!"

"Yet here I am."

"You're messing with me, right?"

"I promise you I'm not."

She picked up the cup of wine again, hiding her smile behind the rim.

* * *

_Twentieth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Come the witching hour, when most had retired to their tents and extinguished their lamps, Claude made his approach. It was very late, yet he could see the dim light of candles still burning within Byleth's tent.

He could imagine her now: waiting for him in bed, probably trying to keep her mind ticking over by reading a book, marking time until his arrival. Damp with anticipation. It made him shiver.

He had chosen two guards to accompany him - one who had served his family since the reign of his father, the other Leicesterian born who had left with him when they bent the knee to Dimitri - and for a particular purpose. Two noticeable Almyran guards might look strange lurking around the Kingdom-Church side of the camp, one Almyran and one Fódlean was less so. These days, at least.

Sure enough, the dear old Gatekeeper of Garreg Mach stood outside Byleth's quarters.

Upon seeing Claude, he greeted him enthusiastically.

"Greetings, Claude!" he began earnestly, before making an anxious back-peddle. "Oh, pardon me! I mean, Your Royal Highness. Nothing to report."

"Greetings, old friend!" Claude replied, copying the chirpy tone. "Chill in the air tonight, no?"

"Indeed there is," the gatekeeper agreed. "I'm surprised that Your Royal Highness would be wandering the camp after dark."

"On the contrary, I prefer to take my walks around this hour," the king assured him. He took a deep breath of the cool night breeze before continuing. "The silent stars above, the lull of the slowly dying torches about me, the camp so quiet you could hear a pin drop. It fills me with a sense of peace, I find. Don't you think? Oh, where are my manners? You must be thirsty. Here, sip my skin-"

Claude handed him the waterskin and waited for the gatekeeper to take a drink.

"Hm, it's sweet," the watchman hummed.

"A zest of citrus fruit is almost the only thing that makes water that bit more refreshing, don't you think?"

"It... certainly adds a kick to it."

"Indeed! Do you know what else adds that 'kick' to it?"

"Um...wha-" the gatekeeper's responses were swiftly becoming slurred. "Wha-what's that, Claude?"

He didn't even have the presence of mind to correct himself this time.

Claude placed a hand on the gatekeeper's shoulder. "Why, the highly concentrated blend of valerian root and passiflora! Honestly, if you don't have the constitution, it'll knock you r_iiiii_ght..." As if his words had been black magic, the gatekeeper slowly slipped to the ground and into a drug-induced slumber. "And just like that, he's gone."

He turned to his two guards, tone unnervingly serious.

"This is troublesome," Claude told them firmly, brow creased with resolve. "The security around Archbishop Byleth is clearly lacking. To fall to such trickery, to fail such a simple test! It's beyond worrisome for our alliance, wouldn't you say? Imagine if I had been an enemy with ill-intentions towards the queen!"

There were no words spoken by the guardsmen, merely a nod of acknowledgement.

"I must raise this matter with Her Grace immediately, here—"

He produced two sets of earplugs from his sleeve.

"Out of respect for the queen, I ask that you put these in until I emerge again. Though I trust you with my safety, the conservations between the archbishop and myself should remain confidential."

Finally, he turned to enter the tent before leaving one last order.

"Stay out here and ensure we are not disturbed. Given the severity of this situation, we might be a while. At least until this fellow..." he indicated the unconscious gatekeeper, "Is back on his feet. He should wake in approximately fifty minutes—no longer than an hour. Hopefully."

With the poor gatekeeper's weak constitution, it probably would be a while before he got up, which suited Claude perfectly.

Still, he called it fifty minutes before he would have to activate the second part of his ploy. He wanted to hold her and pretend for a moment there was no Dimitri.

He sighed and stepped inside.

"Your Grace?" he called out. His guards might have earplugs, but he wanted to keep up the pretence at least as long as it would take them to put them in. "Please, do not be alarmed. It is I, Claude. I fear we might have an issue with the lax security there is around you."

A pause.

"Is that... so? Do tell!"

She sounded delighted.

Claude took that as an invitation to proceed.

The Fódleans had indeed gone out of their way to make this glorified tent look as roomy as possible. He walked through the reception area where her treasured tea set - a gift from another student - sat on the table alongside a small map of Fódlan and various notes on the surrounding terrain. He moved towards an ornate partition, one designed for a lady's boudoir. Pushing it aside, he found himself in the archbishop's 'chambers'.

There, he spotted Byleth's silhouette behind a set of sheer curtains. The nearer he got, the more certainly he could sense the amusement oozing off of her. With his index finger, Claude delicately pulled the smooth material aside to find her lying on her back, her face covered by a book as if to stifle laughter.

Not that Byleth laughed often.

Smiling despite himself, he gently removed the leather-bound 'face-mask'; a smirk plastered across her mouth as she looked up at him.

"Quite a performance!"

"You didn't exactly give me much time to prepare," he sighed again, closing the book and putting it to one side. "I had to come up with all of this on the fly. Instead of giggling like a naughty little girl, you should be praising my industry!"

Sitting up, she crawled over to him.

"You drugged my _poor _gatekeeper!" she said accusatorily.

"Testing your security," he countered with faux concern. "At least, that's what I told my guard and what we'll tell the patrol if he doesn't wake up before they pass by. Honestly though, By! Security around you is a joke if he's one of the best you've got."

"He isn't, though. That was the point, Claude. Remember?"

Byleth's fingers dabbled upon his sash, promising to untie it immediately

"Still," he stressed, managing a smile. "He fell for 'Plan A' hook, line and sinker! I didn't even have to touch on 'Plan B'."

Rather than asking him what 'Plan B' would have been, her hands hesitated over the knot they were promising to untie. With a glance behind him to the distant yet visible entrance to her quarters, she bit her lip.

"I'm not sure how I feel with your guards standing outside, Claude."

He rolled his eyes, turning to move the partition back. Then he took Byleth's hands to peck each with a light, playful kiss.

"Well, what else would you have me do, my sweet-star? Order everyone on this side of the camp to stick their fingers in their ears and go to the other side so we can shag in peace?" he quibbled facetiously. "I gave them earplugs for _Mazda_'s sake!"

At that, Byleth kissed his hands in return. "I can't believe you gave them earplugs!"

"Didn't you complain about them not having some before?"

"Maybe in jest...?"

"Well, I thought it'd be fun to work it into a plot."

Her lips parted as if she were a parched woman, and he the first cup of water she had seen all day. What made it better was that it had been his cleverness that provoked it.

"Only you could take someone's daft, throwaway comment said in jest and work it into a scheme," she uttered softly.

He cupped her cheek.

"'Plan B' was talking Sir Reportless into putting them in, too. After flattering him about not drinking poison from another man's skin, I would have remarked upon how such a diligent man was perfect for standing guard as I discussed intrigue with his beloved Archbishop. Pity he fell so quickly for my first ploy, I would have enjoyed doing this despite him being conscious."

His thumb ran over her lips.

"Just imagine him twiddling his thumbs out there..." he leaned down to whisper into her ear, "...while we're fucking in here."

Byleth quivered, almost certainly imagining it. He hoped that wicked thought made the throb between her legs just a bit stronger, and her keener to have him relieve it.

She finally untied his sash.

A mark of approval.

He placed his knee on her bed to steady himself as he disrobed while she lingered before him, waiting. She had such a sweet, deceptively innocent look in her eyes as she brushed the garland of his belt against her lips.

"Ah!" Claude bleated, pulling out the after-vial he had brewed for her from his pocket. "For tomorrow-well, later this morning now."

Byleth watched as he placed it on the table, saying nothing. She knew what it was for by now.

The jacket came off.

Next, he perched on the edge of her bed to pull off his boots. She snared his neck with her arms, burying her face to trail kisses to his ear, where she promptly began to nibble him.

"Ouch," he said half-heartedly.

She muttered a "hurry then" into his ear.

It made him want to tease her even more, to let her know just how much thought he put into her little 'test' as if he were still a student, and she was his Teach.

"Slow down, my stars. I know you're keen for your Golden Deer's attention, but he hasn't finished telling you how clever he's been yet."

Byleth's eyes darkened with purpose. She reached for the hem of his undershirt to pull it over his head and off.

"Getting in here was only half the 'test'," she said firmly. "You have yet to submit to the... second section of the exam."

"Oh, well," he purred amusedly. "I want that perfect score... so I better not disappoint you."

Softly, they kissed again.

Despite the hunger that had brought them together at this moment, it was a tender embrace. As Byleth pulled him down onto the bed, his tongue dipped gently into her mouth as his hand roamed slowly down her body.

"Hm? This is nice..." he muttered, pausing to appreciate her garbs. It was a seashell-coloured nightdress, silk to touch, and lacy in all the best places. He squeezed one of her barely-concealed breasts in approval. "I don't suppose you'd thank me for ripping this, would you?"

"Absolutely not!" she chuckled before giving him another kiss. Eyes darting behind him again, she asked one last time, "Promise they won't peek?"

It never ceased to amuse Claude how paranoid she was about this. The truth was that while there was some level of dignity expected of him, even if every single one of his Almyran Royal Guard knew that he was routinely having sex with another king's queen-consort, they wouldn't care. She was the wife of a man who was nothing to them and archbishop of a religion they didn't follow.

"They won't look nor talk even if they suspect. Trust me. Men have lost their tongues for less in Almyra."

He stared into her liquid green eyes as he reached lower, lower, and to between her legs.

"Already excited?"

Byleth moaned softly. "Your report was... just _that _thrilling."

"Is that so?" Finding the sensitive point he wanted, he started to rub. The ripples of pleasure rushed through her immediately. Pressing his index finger into her core, he admired at his work. "Happy to have my fingers again so soon again?"

Her eyes rolled in annoyance and euphoria.

"Will I—_ah!_ ever live that down?"

He hiked up her skirt, adding another finger.

"Never."

He pecked her lips quickly, continuing his assault.

"Tell me again how much you love them."

"Ugh! I love— _agh!_ You—you drive me—_ah!_ —don't stop! I'm almost... _ah!_"

"Almost there? I've barely started with you!"

"Claude...!" she whimpered, so fragile and weak.

She bit her knuckles to suppress the deep, throaty cry trying to escape her body.

"You really do love my fingers, don't you, stars-above?" He had got her off very quickly, much faster than he had expected. Once her body settled, he pressed them in again. Two, and a part of a third. Her response was another moan, which he mimicked back at her with ardour. "They love you too."

Pressing herself into his touch, she stared up at him with hazy eyes.

"Your fingers are wonderful, but I want..."

Playfully, she slowly traced along the hair on his jawline.

"...a more substantial part of you. Every inch of it."

Her unoccupied hand swiftly reached down towards his waistline. He closed his eyes and swallowed a growl as she cupped and rubbed him with the same softness he had shown her earlier.

"It seems you need my attention too, don't you?" she said in a throbbing lilt.

Sitting up, she immediately fidgeted to undo and pull down his trousers.

"I didn't get to do this earlier," she continued, focusing on releasing his growing erection. "You distracted me."

"Distracted you...?"

His whole body leapt with anticipation as he realised what she meant.

"By..." he whispered, in a tone akin to a prayer.

Her small, delicate palms took him in hand, and she tenderly placed a kiss upon him.

After that, he belonged to the moment. The warmth of Byleth's tongue curled about him, from head to base to balls, was tantalising. He marvelled at the debauchery, the goddess debased before the lowly human.

_How could I forget how good she is at this?_

He gripped her hair, twirling the shimmering green locks about his fingers.

Then, she took as much of him as she could into her mouth — and his whole body lurched forward so fast and frantically, he choked on her name.

_"—leth!"_

He might have succumbed there and then, but the desperate want he saw in her eyes made his loins lurch. A selfish part of him wanted her to suck him until he came, but the lover wished only to replace her craving with satisfaction.

Capturing her shoulders, he pulled her off, the graze of her teeth upon his skin a pleasant sting. He didn't need to ask if she was ready as she yanked him down to reclaim his lips.

Holding her hips, he began to settle between her legs.

"Wait, no, stop!"

Byleth pushed him back barely an inch, but Claude leapt even further away, hands up and face bewildered, as though she had smacked him.

"Wh-what's wrong? Do you... not want to—?"

"No, I do!" she quickly assured him. "It's just..."

"What?"

"Well... I thought this time you could be on your back?"

_...Oh!_

He obeyed keenly, allowing her to roll him over. Immediately she clambered atop him, perched astride his waist. Secret liaisons tendered to favour a fair amount of ferocity and stamina out of him, so it was rare that he had a chance to take a more 'passive' position.

With a kiss, they slipped together as perfectly sword and sheaf. The relieved sounds that escaped their mouths were like for like.

Eyes screwed shut; he couldn't think of anything but how amazingly she fit around him.

"We wouldn't want you to strain yourself again," Byleth said suddenly, index finger tracing the small of his chest.

He opened his eyes, pouting.

"Don't make me retake the high ground!"

A rare giggle bubbled from her chest as she began to move.

Her movements were shallow and indulgent.

She leaned down to trail her lips along his collarbone and chest. Over the lovebites that she had given him in the cave. He hoped she would suck and bite at his skin again, so he could keep reminding himself that this was real. They were together, truly mated at that moment—she closed her teeth around his nipple, a goddess answering his prayers.

He had to chuckle at that.

"What's funny?" she asked between the kisses she laid upon the fresh abuse of his flesh.

"I was just thinking about how gods must be real."

That was when Byleth began to move keenly... and gods, it was good.

The wordless moans penetrated the air around them. Claude held onto her tightly, finally able to meet her with the fluidity he wanted. Though he was under her, he liked seeing her unravel at the sharp snaps of his hips. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his chest, giving her a greater anchor as she rolled her body back and forth, faster and more desperate.

Their skin was slick with sweat as he reached for the hem of her nightdress, peeling it off to reveal her full nakedness to him.

Though she had her eyes closed, Claude's were wide open, fixated on the growing frenzy in her movements and the bounce of her breasts. He couldn't resist reaching up to clasp them as best he could.

_So soft, so ample, and deliciously large in my palms._

He nudged her forward, enclosing one of her nipples with the same gentle care she had shown his member. It provoked a delighted chuckle from Byleth, always a beautiful sound from one so reserved and quiet.

Then, he felt her squeeze herself around him.

He threw his head back, a hiss escaping through his teeth. "_Gods_, I _love _it when you do this!"

She mumbled something unintelligible in response, clamping herself about him again. His hands found her haunches, driving her on faster, dragging her tightness over his enveloped cock.

"Stars, By! You drive me _mad _when you do this."

Watching her face, he knew she was getting close. The cot creaked and groaned sinfully around them as their lovemaking found its tempo.

Byleth was struggling to keep her enjoyment of him quiet. "You feel so good, too," she whimpered, seeming barely aware she was even talking. "Nothing-_Nothing _feels as good as this-as good as-_you_... how do you-_agh!"_

Her back bowed, and she threw her head back, gritting her teeth as she ground herself against him in tiny little movements, riding out her orgasm.

Claude took a deep breath, maintaining control. He was still very much hard inside her, torn between throwing her down and pounding into her until he came, or asking what the end of that sentence was.

_'How do I...' what? _

As always, his curiosity won out... though his hands were shaking as he reached up to breeze his fingers through her hair.

"How do I 'what', By?"

She opened her eyes, and she kissed his wrist, body settling down.

For a moment, he wondered if she even remembered what she was about to say.

To his surprise, another giggle escaped her chest. Leaning down, she kissed him so passionately and determinedly it could have borne a hole in him.

"When we're together," she explained, "and you take me—" another kiss, "when we make love—" another, and she sat up again. Revitalised, she spurred back into motion. "You feel amazing. You reach something inside me. No one else ca-_-ha-_an!"

He thrust up, hard into her. Half-conscious, half instinctive - a pure, physical response to the glorious confession spilling from her lips. The moan that full-stopped her sentence vibrated through his body as she smothered it with his mouth.

He shifted their position then.

Despite Byleth's brief protest at him holding her still, he sat up fully and pulled her into his lap with a force that sent tremors through them both. He liked this a little more. Not only was it quieter, but it also allowed him to kiss her better, securing her moans with his lips as they made love for the third time that day.

He lifted her slowly, then swiftly pulled her back down.

Byleth strangled the gratified groan in her throat.

"There?" Claude muttered, watching her with wide eyes. He kissed the corner of her mouth, stroking her back softly, languishingly moving them a few more times, relishing in the sounds she made. "Right _there_, yeah?"

She nodded quickly.

"Yes."

He smirked, reaching between them for the other part that would drive her crazy. "Can't forget here, can we?"

She was firm, taut, and hypersensitive from her earlier two releases.

Byleth squeaked, looping her arms around his neck.

"Yes!"

Her legs started to circle him like they always did in these moments. It made him laugh despite himself, running his free hand slowly up her thigh, hips, buttocks and finally resting on her lumbar.

"Dance with me," he purred.

They kissed, and they danced.

Of all things, he thought of seven-years-ago and the night of the ball when he had downed enough of that weird sickly-sweet white-wine to find the courage to approach her when no one else had. _Not Sylvain, not Dimitri, nobody._ Neither of them knew the steps and simply followed a few steps behind the rest of the room. _We might have looked ridiculous but who the hell cares? _He got to dance with Teach before anyone else. _Dimitri and Edelgard must've been red with jealousy! _He didn't know for certain because he had been transfixed with Byleth, making light conversation as they stumbled into the next song.

After they had waltzed a while through two songs, every boy and a fair number of girls, wanted to be her next partner. But he had done what he wanted to do.

_And asked what I wanted to ask._

Her back arched, squawking out what sounded like his name. Smiling, he watched a warm glow spread across her face, slowing his pace a little to observe better. Barely a moment passed before Byleth's large mint-coloured eyes opened.

"Don't slow down..." she croaked weakly. "Don't stop-!"

"I'd never stop," he panted, managing a wink, "if it was physically possible." Her cheeks seemed to grow hotter and redder as he peppered her with his lips. "We'd never get anything done, probably." He laughed. "Imagine how strategy meetings would go..."

"We'd certainly get a lot of odd looks."

Byleth's breath quivered as she seized his shoulders firmly and began to move with such unabashed frenzy Claude was taken unawares.

_Dear, dear stars-above where are you finding this energy! _

"Trying to... take the lead, Teach?"

Clasping her sides tightly, he did his best to keep up with her fervid onslaught. A thrilled cry rose from both their lips before they remembered themselves and smashed them together as the only means to keep quiet.

_I love you._

He was utterly lost now as if this was indeed all there was in life.

_My goddess, my love, my stars-above... I love you._

He had no inhibitions now, not when they were like this.

_There's nothing else now, By. _

Nothing but the scent of their lovemaking; feverish heat of their bodies; his hammering heart; her pounding pulse. All he could hear were the slick, illicit sounds of their damp flesh sliding, smacking. All he could feel was her, riding his dick to unassailable pleasure and him pumping over and over into her sweet, hot, plush little cunt...

Soon those sensations became thoughts, and those thoughts became the filthy words he whispered into her ear. Those words made her grip him tighter, plead with him for more and agree with every improper comment he made.

"I'm close, my stars," he growled, biting her earlobe, "so very close... _eshtahre'uyla-mi...!_"

She nodded in approval, rocking a few more times to draw him out as he stroked and pumped one last climax out of her. Her nails raked his back as he watched the pleasure consume her.

Finally, he came in several powerful spurts that convulsed through him.

They crumbled into a heap of limbs and flesh against her pillows and mattress, breathless and sated. Claude closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the glow of his climax and the weight of her lying boneless across his chest.

Goodness knew how much time past before Byleth finally broke the silence.

"I heard back from Aliprand," she said suddenly, the pad of her fingertip circling his nipple.

Aliprand was the current leader of Jeralt's mercenaries. The truth was, Claude was a little surprised at how soon they had responded to the message if this was the case. It seemed they really would fall over themselves to help Jeralt's daughter.

_I wonder if she massaged his back, too._

"I see," he gasped, still catching his breath. "Starting the pillow talk with some tactics, are we? I haven't even pulled out yet."

Byleth gave him a playful smack.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" he chuckled.

Stretching his arms with a satisfied moan, he tucked them behind his head.

"Well, we have about twenty minutes before Sir Reportless is due to wake up and I have to action 'Part Two' of my plan - we can talk strategy until then."

"There's a 'Part Two'?"

"Naturally," Claude said affirmatively. _I'm staying here for as long as I can. Coming to this bed as often as I can get away with_. "So, what did Aliprand say? Or more importantly, what's the price?"

Byleth perched herself atop his chest, hands gently stroking the hair she found there.

"As soon as he saw the message was from me, he agreed to our request without question. We need to discuss how to split the forces now."

"Do we now?"

He hated the idea of splitting up the army though it was a sound plan, provided they picked the right people to lead it.

"You know my father's men will be crucial in making this plan work," she said. "But we need to decide on a small task force to travel to Ernest Village incognito."

Claude wished they had Ignatz with them. He was perfect for these types of missions - his adorable, baby-face invited trust. No enemy ever suspected that guy was seconds away from painting the scenery with their blood. Alas, he was back at Garreg Mach commanding the left flank of the reserve army and, with any luck, cuddling up to Flayn under a lovely warm blanket with a good book.

He just hoped Seteth wouldn't give them too much trouble once he got back.

Claude sighed, gazing up at Byleth.

_Would that we had a cosy blanket to huddle under all night. One with the power of invisibility. And soundproof._

"With Seteth on his way back to Garreg Mach the next most qualified commander would be Catherine, I suppose," he reasoned. "Though for this type of mission, perhaps someone like Leonie would be a better choice."

Byleth nodded, saying nothing.

"They should also take one of our best scouts with them," he added.

Ashe or Cyril. Claude knew which one he wanted to send. Ashe, much like Ignatz, looked the part of a sweet, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth traveller. Cyril, on the other hand, was Almyran and would arouse suspicion by default. Even with that plain logic, he wondered if sentimentality around the old Blue Lions would make her not want to send Ashe.

_He's the only Lion Cub who came on this campaign, after all._

Byleth's index finger began circling his nipple again, thinking carefully.

"Leonie would jump at the chance to work with my father's men," she agreed. "As for which scout to send, Ashe is the soundest choice. Not only does he know how to move undetected but he'll blend in better should they be spotted."

Claude smirked. It was like they were of one mind.

"That's the mini task force," Byleth muttered conclusively, pulling herself into a sitting position. He stared up at her as she straddled his stomach. "Now," she proceeded. "I want your opinion now on the person I've selected to lead the battalion we'll use to draw out the mages."

_You mean 'the bait'?_

He started to feel that same foreboding he had sensed earlier. Still, he masked it as best he could behind a sly smile.

"Already planned the whole battle, have you?" he teased. "Seems my tactical mind isn't needed here. I'm just a glorified bed-warmer to you now..."

She tapped his nose playfully. "You're a very hot bed-warmer."

"Touché!"

"Please hear me out."

"Very well."

Even as he said it, he could feel his heart beginning to bang. _I'm not going to like this_, his body hummed. His gut already knew what Byleth was going to say.

"They are the best choice not just for their strategic skills in the field but from a practical point-of-view, the enemy won't be able to resist attacking when they see them," Byleth argued.

His hands found her hips again.

"This person sounds too good to be true," he muttered in resignation. "I fear I know where you're going with this, By..."

She leaned down to give him one last kiss and a nod.

"Me."


	5. Echoes From Earlier Moons

**Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.**

**Be advised that the central plot of this story focuses on adultery. I completely respect that this is not for everyone. If you find any of these subject matters uncomfortable or upsetting please don't read.**

**Edits: [18/June/2020] Tweaked a few chronological errors I made.**

* * *

**Echoes From Earlier Moons**

_Twentieth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Byleth was dreading the moment she would have to tell Claude of her plan. She had long since resigned herself to her role as 'bait' for these strange enemies. Ever since the ambush in Miach Forest almost a month ago, it had felt like she had a target on her back, one that they couldn't help trying to strike a bullseye on.

Now they were finally able to feint them and end this conflict. The battle at Gwalchmai Ravine had finally broken the enemy line and forced a retreat. Thanks to Ashe and Cyril's scouting, and Claude's summations, they additionally had a solid lead on where the pale mages were hiding, within cave-systems and valleys between Bergliez and Hryrm. Byleth had studied the terrain and hypothesised the best path the lure them out. Now she needed Claude to devise a way to make her troop movements plausible to the enemy. She'd partly asked him to come to her that night with this in mind, to discuss strategy. But more so her invitation was so she could have him exactly where she liked him best.

Claude had such a tremendous hold over her. Nothing compared to that feeling of him inside her, muttering profanities and degenerate-nothings into her ear that would never cross his lips otherwise. It fired her up, burning a hole somewhere deep, deep inside her... a physical and emotional tug, a constant curl that yearned to be as close to him as possible. It wasn't just sexual enjoyment though, as intense and enjoyable as it was; the sensation of him brought her fulfilment that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was like returning to a place where she truly belonged.

If she could wrap herself inside it, she would never emerge.

Byleth had never been good with emotions whether she was trying to express them or identify them. Yet for a long time, she thought that she understood them, if not their nuances. She knew she loved her father, her students and the other kids at the Academy, Seteth and Flayn and even Rhea, and of course, Dimitri. It had all been varying levels of the same distinct sentiment: care, fear and concern for their wellbeing. She adored each and every one of them and, above all, wanted to see them all happy, safe and well.

_This_ love had crept up on her like a cruel joke, ensnaring her bit by bit as the years passed. Had it instead struck her in one bolt of realisation all at once, she might have recognised it sooner. Instead, it had been a process of discovery, like so many other aspects of her life.

Byleth was in love with Claude, and she had realised it far too late.

As she lay atop him, listening to the hammering of his heart, she mused on how vulnerable they indeed were: fragile and compromised, drained and helpless. Despite it all, her arteries pumped with indescribable happiness. Even after a maddening session of lovemaking, she never felt tired of him.

_If only you could stay like this, _she thought in her Sothis-voice. _If only you didn't have to hideaway._

He excited her and calmed her.

She felt safe.

It made broaching this subject easier:

"I want your opinion now on the person I've selected to lead the battalion we'll use to draw out the mages."

Claude tilted his head, smiling foxily.

"Already planned the whole battle, have you? Seems _my _tactical mind isn't needed here. I'm just a glorified bed-warmer to you now!"

His tone was so tantalising Byleth couldn't help but find it cute.

"You're a very 'hot' bed-warmer," she chirped back, tapping his nose.

"Hm, touché!"

Stroking his jawline, she regarded him solemnly. "Please hear me out."

"Very well."

Though he was still smiling, she felt him quake beneath her. She almost lost her courage then, but she pressed on:

"They are the best choice not just for their strategic skills in the field but from a practical point-of-view," she explained, feeling odd talking herself up. Yet everything she said was right, and so was this:

"The enemy won't be able to resist attacking when they see them."

_Of that, I'm sure. _

These Dark Mages had a vendetta against her, she knew it.

"This person sounds too good to be true," Claude muttered, rubbing circles into the points of her hip-bone. "I fear I know where you're going with this, By."

"_Me. _I will lure the Dark Mages out."

Her tone had been as emphatic as the long, lingering kiss that accompanied it, to sugar-coat her bitter suggestion. It seemed to work at first as Claude hummed in pleasure, accepting the kiss with open lips. Byleth even dared to wonder if she could win this argument with the power of her mouth alone.

But then Claude remembered himself.

He stiffened his jaw, blockading her tender caresses.

_I knew it would be too good to be true_, Byleth thought with resignation.

She pulled back to look at him.

Claude was usually excellent at looking calm, his lips forever locked into that serene 'half-smile' that never reached his eyes. Yet now he avoided her gaze, focusing instead on his hands tracing circles into her haunches. As if he could draw a whole other reality where he wouldn't have to contemplate this strategy.

"You," he said curtly.

"Who else?" Byleth replied hesitantly.

With that, he threw his head back against the pillows and groaned aloud, louder than he ever would have dared moments ago when they were in the midst of their sinful dance.

She covered his mouth to hush him, hissing, "_Shh someone might walk in!"_

He cocked his eyebrow sceptically.

_"Eyr-fugs," _ he mumbled into her palm before giving her a painless bite. "Earplugs, remember? And your moron guard-!"

"You shouldn't call him a 'moron'."

"-And your marginally competent guard," he corrected sarcastically, "won't wake up for another thirty minutes-"

"You said twenty."

"Hmph!"

Claude sat up with a start, almost causing Byleth to fall onto her back but for his firm grip on her hips.

"That only gives us less time to settle this argument, my lovely star," he growled, lip curled. "So, tell me, was this the point of your little challenge? Did you hope to ride me into submission and then hit me with this 'idea' you knew I'd hate but be too tired to appropriately counter?"

"No, of course not!" Byleth scowled. "Not entirely, anyway..."

"Ha! So, which part am I getting wrong?"

His tone wasn't accusatory, just inquisitive.

"Well, I..." She had intended on there being an appropriate period between 'ride-into-submission' and 'hit-with-idea'. "I had expected to have clothes on."

Claude rolled his eyes and leaned in, his husky voice ticklish against her ear. "Your nakedness is the only highlight, By."

She felt a familiar knot at her core at the admission.

"You're upset with me," she stated, not asking.

"Upset. Cross. Troubled. Exasperated," Claude replied pointedly. "Begrudgingly impressed. Nonplussed, honestly." His expression was shameless then. "Even a little turned on."

"Be serious!"

"I am."

Byleth scowled at that, shifting a little in his lap. Sure enough, her movements stirred a frisson and garble from him.

"Buttering me up with intimacy," he breathed in a somewhat arch-tone. "How deliciously devious of you, my stars-above!"

"Please don't put it that way."

"Why?"

"Because you make it sound like I was manipulating you!"

He leaned back on his hands regarding her curiously.

"I'm only jesting."

"Don't joke. Not about that."

She felt her blood hum.

Byleth was not blind to what she was. Outwardly, she was the archbishop for the Church and queen-consort to Dimitri. The people thought her akin to Pan, the legendary advisor to King Loog the First.

But she knew the truth.

She was not a Pan but a Fionnour; an adulteress, wilful and willing; wife to one king but mistress to another. A manipulator, or so people would say if they knew. Even if nothing else about her situation was right, how she felt was.

It kept her steady.

"I'm sorry to have sprung this on you," she confessed, meekly. "Earlier was so... good. Then after I felt so at peace... it made it easier to just come out and say it."

"Lucky me."

"I didn't 'seduce' you for ulterior motives... though I had already considered how much I would need you to help me formulate this plan."

"I feel so used!" he declared dramatically.

"Please don't!"

"Calm down!" Claude cried, rubbing his face. "I'm still joking. Jesting! I'm avoiding an argument and masking how completely galled I am by being flippant."

"Please _don't! _"

"Alright, _alright_. Serious-time. Let me up, I need to think."

Without a word, she freed him from her weight and their bodies parted.

When Claude's member finally slipped out of her the mixed flow of his seed, and her arousal dampened her thighs, making her shiver.

He bounced to his feet. He began to pace, tripping little by little over their discarded garbs, all pitfalls in his path. The air around them was cold, but he glistened with the sweat and heat of their activities.

Byleth sat cross-legged upon the bed and watched him guiltily.

_You shouldn't have dumped it on him like this_, she scolded herself. _He's barely managed to get his eyes to face forward again, and now he's all worked up in the worst way possible._

She scanned the ground for where he had thrown her nightie.

_Actually_, she reconsidered. _Perhaps my dressing gown would be more appropriate._

The thought of redressing quickly left her mind as Claude's feet pounded the ground, walking back and forth, eyes staring not in front of him but inward.

_If only I had a penny for those thoughts._

"I knew you'd react this way..." she muttered.

"Ha!"

She pulled the dampened, crumpled bedclothes around her. "You're a clever man. You must have guessed this would be my strategy."

"Oh, I guessed alright," Claude groaned disagreeably.

He swooped down, picking up her nightdress. Under them, he found his trousers and, with another grumble, he threw them both onto the bed beside her.

"You're right, I've been anticipating something like this all day. And I hate it." He sounded as if to speak each word was a strain, and she hated that. "I knew you were going to suggest this and I really, really don't want to do it this way."

Her whole body ached with regret.

"I know," she acknowledged, shifting closer to him. "I know, I know..."

It was rare for him to show the world anything but his resting-smile, as rehearsed and fake as it was. He seldom showed anyone this side of him, the more fragile and uncertain him, the one that didn't have all the answers. That didn't have a way out of a predicament.

Byleth wanted to hug him, play with his hair, stroke his skin and kiss him sweetly all over. Not to try and eke out yet another go-around on her mattress but to comfort him. Make him feel as better as she could.

"You know as well as I do this is the best way to end this."

Claude groaned, head in his hand. "Can it really be called 'good judgment' to put Fódlan's Archbishop-Queen in mortal peril?"

"If we move carefully we'll be able to mitigate any 'mortal peril'."

"Will your Church-followers think any mitigation is enough?"

"They'll do as I say. As _we _say."

Standing up straight, Claude frowned.

"And your husband, 'Teach'? What would he say if he knew you planned such a reckless scheme, let alone if I endorse it?"

Byleth bleated out an uncharacteristic, "**Ha!" ** and tilted her head incredulously.

Dimitri. She knew why he had invoked Dimitri; to evoke a bigger picture, to make her stop and wonder what king and court would think if it was known the queen-consort was permitted by her generals and allies to put herself in harm's way. Of course, he would dislike it! Not only because it would be putting her at peril, but the plot would rely on deception and trickery. He always said Claude took too many risks for his liking.

While Byleth had no qualms in throwing herself into a one-on-one battle without much consideration - 'a boulder' Sothis had once called her - Dimitri was something else.

He was a full-frontal war-machine in battle, a man who disliked cunning plans and valued facing the enemy head-on above all else - and he hit like a hammer. His personal 'King of Lions' forces, built around this very idea, was made up of heavily armoured mounted units that were deadly in a charge and steel-shielded infantrymen that served as a solid defensive block. Together with the right and left flanks made up of pegasus knights for aerial assaults, light cavalry for side-sweeps, and swordfighters for melee attacks, the Faerghusian army's strategy was simple: pick the field clean and leave nothing behind.

They didn't call her husband 'The Tempest' without reason.

To Byleth, the battlefield was not as it appeared before her eyes but a three-dimensional map she could look down upon like a soaring wyvern from above. While her husband was seldom 'The Boar' any longer, his wild charges were always a worry.

Claude called it, 'Head-Walling.'

_"Ram head-first into a stonewall enough times eventually you'll crack it."_

Byleth had called him harsh when he said it.

"_There is value in straightforwardness, Claude."_

_"There's value in underhandedness, too," _had been his glib response. Byleth remembered how hard he had her pressed against the cold stone wall, nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck with his teeth. _"It might not be as honourable as knights charging valiantly towards enemy lines, but I learned a long time ago that shooting straight makes you predictable. Dimitri is an arrow. I'm an archer."_

The memory gave Byleth goosebumps.

Tugging the covers tighter around her nakedness, she groaned.

"Look at us. Are you really going to bring up Dimitri now?"

He sniffed back a snicker, shaking his head in resignation, letting out a dramatic groan.

"Fine, point taken. Probably not the right time. We can't ignore the question, though. If anything happens to you—"

"We can't let our feelings get in the way of strategy!" she cut him off.

Claude grumbled mirthlessly, leaving his point unfinished.

_Don't snap at him_, Byleth chided herself. _It's not going to help anything._

She cautiously rested her hands upon his sides, hoping an intimate gesture would take the edge off her words but half-expecting him to pull away.

He shivered.

"Sorry. Are my hands cold?"

She slowly drew back.

"No. I'm just… a little sensitive still."

His hands found hers, halting their retreat.

"I should have waited until you'd 'come down' before bringing this up," she sighed again, stroking her thumbs along his warm skin.

"It wouldn't have made much difference, my stars-above," Claude lamented, thumb reaching to capture her chin. "I wasn't going to enjoy hearing it regardless of how and when you told me. Naked or fully-clothed."

The corners of her lips peaked.

"...I need my 'Master Tactician'."

"Ugh, I hate how that name caught on. Even my Almyran generals toss that title in my face."

"Blame Judith. I think it fits you well."

She leaned forward to place soft kisses upon his torso. A satisfying hiss passed through his teeth as she engaged her hot tongue to lick between each full press of her lips.

"Still trying to butter me up," he joked, the tiniest grin on his lips, "...with these little 'intimacies' of yours?"

"I'm trying to comfort you," she replied, placing another kiss upon his moist skin. Then, resting her chin against his abdomen as she gazed upwards she added, "To make you feel better."

Now, he puffed out a 'Ha!'

Twirling around, he fell back onto the bed beside her, hands gripping his face.

"I want you to think about the plan, not me," she pleaded.

"Rather counterproductive, my stars-above," he muffled through his hands. "I think about you all the time."

She stroked his messy dark hair, still tussled from earlier.

"Try not to."

"You may as well ask me to stop breathing. I don't control it. You just sorta... pop in there. Like a reflex."

Without much thought, she leaned down to kiss him right on the nose.

"I know you're worried, but I have thought this through," she affirmed. "Extensively."

_"Hmph."_

"I wouldn't have suggested the idea at all if I hadn't."

Her fingers dabbled across his moist brow, brushing his locks back into some sort of order. At least, 'order' by the standards of his hair.

Claude tentatively peeked up at her. There was something almost adorable about the look in his eyes.

"We could still come up with another plan."

"If you find one, then I'll happily consider it," she managed to chuckle, pecking a kiss on his forehead. "You won't find one, however."

"Is that another challenge?"

She sighed, kissing his cheeks, then his lips, speaking between each. "I'd sooner you'd make this plan work instead of fighting me on it."

He raised his hand to cover her mouth.

"If you didn't want a debate, you shouldn't have proposed such a controversial notion, my stars-above."

Byleth puffed out a groan, brushing her fringe out of her eyes.

Clambering back to his feet again, Claude offered her his hands.

"Tell me your reasoning," he suggested. "I might still hate it, but I'd prefer if I understood why you chose this path."

With a nod, Byleth allowed herself to be pulled up into a sitting position and onto her own feet. Even now, her knees still felt as fragile as a newborn foal's.

The bed covers fell away, leaving her utterly bare, the chill of the air bumping her skin immediately.

He slipped the head of her shift over her head, barely covering or warming her.

_Not that I wore this for its practicality._

Once she was confident she could stand unaided, Byleth crouched down to pick up the rest of Claude's discarded garbs while he pulled on his trousers.

Then, as if reading her earlier thoughts, he grabbed her dressing-gown from a nearby chair.

"Edelgard has been dead for years now," Byleth began, locating his undershirt. "So, why do her elite mages continue to fight - and who or what are they fighting for? And why now? What's their motivation?"

Claude helped her on with the dressing-gown. Byleth felt much less exposed - the dark grey material was thick and significantly warmer than her pale silk negligee.

Silently, he watched as she shrugged it on and tied it.

"Do you want me to answer those questions, or are they just for emphasis?"

She handed him the shirt.

"Tell me what you think."

Claude nodded, immediately pulling it on.

"Well, it was Count Bergliez they incited to rebel and invade the Leicester side of the Airmid," he started.

Jakob von Bergliez, Caspar's older brother, was the current Count having succeeded his father, Melkor, following his death during the Siege of Enbarr. While he had lost the hereditary government position with the fall of the Adrestian Empire and its incorporation into the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Dimitri declared that he - and all Imperial nobility - would be permitted to hold their lands and maintain their ancestral titles. It had been a more prudent decision than stripping him of everything and expecting his underlinings to accept a new ruler. There was no denying the military power House Bergliez either. They had provided Edelgard with the vast majority of her forces, and they had lost many members of their family in the war - many, Byleth shuddered to admit, at her very hands. Moreover, a man could not be blamed for his father following his lawful queen into war, especially after he surrendered to Dimitri once the capital was taken.

So, Dimitri had decided to afford the new Count the benefit of the doubt, and for a year the gamble paid off.

Until three months ago.

Word had reached her at Garreg Mach: Count von Bergliez had forcibly taken the Gwydion Bridge and captured the town of the same name that lay beside it on the Leicester side. The Baron of Gwydion was killed during the attack while his family were unaccounted for. By some stroke of luck, some merchants were able to escape the settlement before the gates were sealed, allowing the word to reach Viscount Stroud, then subsequently his liege, Lorenz, the Count of Gloucester - who promptly sent word to Byleth. Eventually, the official proclamation from Count Bergliez arrived, stating that he had taken the city to 'press his ancient claims' on the land there and was being aided by 'Her Majesty's Elite Historians and Sorcerers'.

"Those claims were 'ancient' for sure," Claude declared. "Gwydion's been part of the Gloucester fiefdom almost as long as the Empire existed. If Jakob does have a claim, it only stems from the fact that House Bergliez started as an offshoot of House Gloucester."

Byleth finished tying his sash for him, once a befuddling task, now like second nature.

Dimitri had been apoplectic with rage at the news. Edelgard's mages - the ones who had served Lord Arundel, who had been in allegiance with Cornelia when she terrorised Fhirdiad, with Solon when they attacked Remire Village, and those responsible for the Tragedy of Duscar. For Count Bergliez to press a weak claim on Gloucester territory was disrespectful but sheltering and engaging with those savages drained the king of any mercy he might have had for them.

It had been for that reason, among others, that Byleth had beseeched the Privy Council to allow her in her capacity as queen to take a portion of the Faerghusian levies to bolster her own standing army, the Knights of the Reformed Church, to deal with the matter. Alone.

"Seems like it was all an excuse to start a fight," he concluded. "_ Their _excuse. Not Jakob's. If it had been about him then..."

"Exactly my thought," said Byleth, sadly.

Jakob von Bergliez had disappeared in Miach Forest. Several days later, as they reached the edge of the woods and Lake Anwen, they found the lakeshore littered with dead and dying Bergliez soldiers. The Count had been among the latter, killed by a wound invested with gangrene. Then the mages had attacked again, right there by the crashing Afanc Falls. Count Bergliez would be survived by his infant son - but this war would go on without him.

"If this were about rebelling against the Kingdom," Claude went on, "then one would have thought these mages would have propped Bergliez up as a pretender against Dimitri. Him, or someone from the old Hvesvelg family..."

"Dimitri put a tight lead on the few remaining members of Edelgard's family," Byleth clarified.

"Oh, I know! A few crest-less cousins without two pennies to rub together and _ one _surviving brother, insane and under constant care of a doctor." Claude winced at that before adding, "I suppose there's Lucretia von Arundel, too. But she's a cousin on the wrong side. Any power she might have enjoyed died with her father."

Byleth twiddled the wrap of her robe, thinking. "Nonetheless she's also kept on a tight lead."

Lucretia had been in Enbarr throughout the war. Once the city fell and Edelgard was killed, she had surrendered herself to the mercy of the king. Unlike with other nobility who had fought for the Empire, no member of House Arundel could be fully pardoned, even one who was a small child when the Tragedy of Duscar took place. Now living in Fhirdiad, the late Volkard von Arundel's only child was little more than a prisoner at the king's leisure.

Byleth had noticed her floating in the background at court. It was hard not to feel a little sorry for her - despite her black-hair, her face was so much like Edelgard's had been that one could have mistaken her for the ghost of the 'Bloody Emperor'.

"Perhaps it was Count Bergliez's military clout that appealed to them?" Claude proposed next, stroking the hairs on his chin. "Then again, if a pure rebellion was their goal you'd think they'd have made a sincere push towards Fhirdiad by now."

"Yet they haven't."

"True. These guys don't seem to have a particularly strong desire to take the fight to Dimitri."

It had been one of the many concerns Byleth raised to justify leaving him in the Capital. Killing Dimitri should have been their top priority. It certainly had been Edelgard's when she was alive, as she understood doing so would demoralise the Kingdom and allow her to enforce control. She had been just as desperate to kill Claude too.

If the mages truly needed Count Bergliez's army for their goals, then one would think they would have advanced north and ensured he stayed alive. Instead, they had remained south of Garreg Mach, and the Count was dead.

Byleth hummed.

"Yet, they are still fighting us over something." She paused. "Or someone. For reasons unrelated to Dimitri... or even Edelgard."

"It seems you've reached your point," Claude groused.

Lowering his head, his hands found her hips while hers his shoulders.

"I worked it out a while ago," she confessed. "They know about Sothis."

How she came to dwell within Byleth was another insane tale that could make weaker minds spin. The crest stone that had once donned the Sword of the Creator, a weapon forged from Sothis's remains - a fact that still irked Byleth - had also served as the heart of another, her mother, Sitri.

Byleth had never been altogether clear how that crest-stone came to serve as Sitri's heart. Once all of this was over, Byleth mentally decided she would take a trip to the Red Canyon. If nothing else, Rhea might be able to offer some insight into who these strange enemies were.

"Sothis," Claude repeated, her name sounding susurrate on his lips. "If it has something to do with Sothis, andthis is all a means of targetting you."

Byleth reached up to stroke his cheek.

"They know about her connection to me."

His unease was palpable, tone weighty with tension. "And you want to put yourself out in the open to lure these maniacs out?"

She simpered.

"Kiss me."

Gone was the discomfort and back was the pout. "Avoiding an answer by fluttering your eyes again?"

"When have I ever 'fluttered' my eyes at you?"

That won a smile from him.

She pressed her lips against his, as sweetly as she could muster.

_Please_, she thought weakly. _I don't want to squabble with you over this! _"You should come to terms with what we must do. It's only once you do that..." more kisses, more resolve dissolving, "...that you can put your wonderful mind to the task at hand."

Claude huffed but returned her kisses in kind.

"I hate this," he whined, gently wrapping his arms around her. "Not just the plan but - _this!_ You kiss me, and I can't say no. It's my Kyphon's heel. _Agh, _By!"

He smothered her into his chest.

"The thought of something happening to you is driving me crazy. If something does happen, I don't know what I'll do!"

Byleth said nothing.

Her mind's eye conjured up another vivid memory. Of one such time where the worst had happened. A forgotten timeline she had undone with her power. It had been one of the few times where she used her divine pulse to excess. Just as the old moon had died and the new one had begun.

The ambush in Miach Forest.

The time she had watched Claude die right before her eyes.

She had watched many of her loved ones die before turning back time to try again, almost too quick to process the pain of loss.

This time was no exception.

That battle had been like a living nightmare. Keeping her friends, allies and soldiers alive had been a juggling act. Too much had gone wrong in one go. She couldn't tell where the mages fire attacks were coming from. Slicing down any and all who approached her, she could feel her body growing weaker and weaker.

She had spotted Claude, crouched within the overgrowth, dismounted and alone yet artfully picking off his enemies with Failnaught. It had been her gift to him upon his return to Fódlan, an additional 'thank you' for his aid. He seemed invincible while wielding that bow, pulsing with power. Each ordinary arrow it touched was imbued with its power, glowing red-hot in synchrony with his crest.

He noticed her.

_"Get down!" _ he had bellowed, giving away his position as he took aim.

His arrow shot over her head, taking out an enemy about to impale her.

That was when it happened.

Byleth couldn't remember exactly what the weapon had been, only the sight of blood as whatever it was - sword, lance, arrow, magic - entered Claude from behind, exiting from his chest.

Terror had coursed through her veins.

She had remained in that time long enough to see him fall, lifeless. Gone. Dead instantly. Not like her father, who had lived to say goodbye. It had torn through her lover's heart and felled him instantly.

His life snuffed out like a candle.

The hurt, horror, sorrow, anger, helplessness, numbness - it all washed over her in one go. She was almost _ too _shocked to reverse time. Too frightened that it would be in vain.

Just like with Father.

She had reached back desperately for the point just before she first noticed him, ran faster than the first time - and made sure to strike the one who sought to kill her first before Claude would need to.

_"Behind you!"_

Recognising her voice, Claude spun around on his knees without question. In one shot he struck down the assailant who had killed him moments before.

Byleth had breathed in relief.

A queer sense of satisfaction passed over her as she watched the hooded figure crumple to the ground, an arrow shot right through his eyesocket.

_I would do it again_, she told herself, pulse hammering in her neck. _I would do it a thousand times over!_

Reunited, and breathing, they had escaped together further into the forest.

Once the battle was over, the tides had been turned, and the enemy retreated, Byleth had little inhibition left within her. She was running purely on an emotional high. Without much presence of mind, she grabbed Claude's hand and pulled him deeper into the grove.

Upon finding a copse with a sturdy tree, she had begged him to make love to her there and then.

It had to have been one of the riskiest things that she had ever done on a battlefield, and to her surprise, he obliged without protest or preparation. She had gasped at how hard he already was and shrieked with unsuppressed joy when he thrust into her with the vigour she desired.

_Nothing feels as amazing as him._

He was so strong, so powerful, and alive.

She wasn't coy about voicing her approval of his work with cries of pleasure and words of encouragement. She wondered if he sensed how close he had been to death, that lingering finality that had almost ensnared him. How lucky he was to be alive. How fortunate he was to be the human lover of the progenitor god with the power to rewind time.

If he had any inkling, he never voiced it.

The strains of battle finally melted away as he brought her to climax.

_What a sight we must have been! What a miracle that no one caught us!_

Claude often joked since how uncharacteristically precarious it was of her to beg such a boon of him right after a battle, in the middle of a forest, but all Byleth remembered was how thankful she was that he was still alive.

_"I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to you."_

Those words were as valid now as they were then.

Swallowing the trauma of that day, Byleth buried her face into Claude's shoulder. "I know more than you'll ever realise."

His hands found her hair, twirling the matted locks about his fingers.

She smiled and inhaled his scent happily, a soft mixture of earth and pine; chamomile and lavender; sweat and sex. Somehow, they seemed all the more delightful to her. Soothing and secure, even a little delicious. As though she could drink him. Were it not for their circumstances, she might have fallen asleep right there in his arms.

It was the fragrance of life.

She breathed it all in happily.

"That's why I need your help. Once the battle begins, I can manoeuvre the troops wherever they need to be," she mumbled into his clothed chest. "You just need to find a way to get the battle started."

"Finding a 'way' _might _drive me insane."

She smiled despite it all.

"We can't have that, your beautiful mind must be preserved."

Byleth ran her fingers across his jawline, tracing his beard. They moved down to his neck to his shoulder, and then his arm until she finally reached his hand.

"Come," she bade him.

Claude followed dutifully.

She led him back into the front room where her table stood. Upon it lay a smaller version of the map that was permanently on-show in the war tent as well as tinier, less detailed tokens to represent their forces.

Letting Claude go, she looked up to him for the first time in proper lighting.

_He looks exhausted._

"Have a lie-down," she suggested, pointing to a nearby couch.

"I'm fine."

"You look tired."

"Arguing is very tiring. Hence why I try to avoid it."

Byleth started to set up the markers.

"Just a short one," she pushed, pointing again. "It'll take me a while to get everything in place."

"Your guardsman will wake-"

"I'll deal with him," she cut him off, gesturing a third time to the couch. "Sit down at the very least."

He obeyed her that time. Byleth watched from the corner of her sight as Claude slumped down with a loud thud. There, he sat back, stretching his arms and legs, and cracking his neck to get comfortable as he watched her through lidded eyes.

Byleth continued to peek at her notes in between moving the pieces, one at a time.

She was sure they were nearing the end of this conflict. These mages were powerful, but they were running out of places to hide. They could even end it with this very next battle - and the thought filled her with gratification and sadness.

The night was quiet.

Byleth could only hear faint, distant sounds - of torches flickering, grass whipping, leaves rustling, and all in the throes of the biting wind. She pitied her poor old Gatekeeper and the royal Almyran guard whose duty it was to stand vigil over their masters while they slept.

Stopping for a moment, she considered brewing some tea for them all.

The thought of her tea collection conjured the scents they wafted. The idea of sweet or overly fruity favours made her feel uncommonly queasy. Usually, her pallet craved Sweet-Apple, Bergamot or her favourite Honeyed-Fruit blends, especially at night. Now, just considering opening their caddies gave her a headache.

_Earthy flavours might be better anyway_, she decided, swallowing her discomfort.

She turned to Claude, meaning to ask him if he would like some - only to see he was dozing.

Byleth smiled, plan successful. She knew if she allowed for a quiet moment, he would catch some much-needed winks. Much like her, he wasn't a deep sleeper but a connoisseur of siestas and power naps.

_Hm, perhaps lavender or chamomile would do the trick_, deciding on teas again. Remembering the comforting scent of her lover, Byleth tiptoed to see how much of the floral kinds she had in stock.

As she stoked the fire and moved a pot atop it to boil, she [added towards the entrance to her quarters. Shifting the heavy material aside, she saw the two guards Claude brought with him from behind. One a large, brawny Almyran; the other an equally tall and muscular Leicestrian. Neither noticed her when she cleared her throat to get their attention nor when she called to them.

_Earplugs._

She softly prodded them both, resulting in a very startled cry and spin as they turned to face her.

Confused, the latter guard removed one of the earplugs.

"Is all well, Your Grace?"

"Yes, thank you. How is my guard?"

Her eyes fell upon where the poor man had been carefully placed on a hay bed.

"Still out," he replied with a half-smile. "Our King certainly proved his point I hope, Your Grace?"

"He certainly did," she replied knowingly.

The Almyran-born guard removed one of his earplugs and looked to his companion, speaking words in High Almyran too quick for her to even attempt to follow. She only knew a handful of phrases anyway, words that she picked up during her one and only trip there. That visit was the most exposure she had to the foreign tongue outside of the vehement proclamations Claude would mindlessly speak in the throes of passion, a rustling and throbbing tongue.

The Fódlean guard nodded to his companion.

"Apologies, Your Grace," he bowed politely. "Nawid here's a bit too shy to speak the common tongue in your presence. He wanted to know if all is well?"

Byleth turned to the uncertain man and nodded, stumbling out the best broken High Almyran she could muster. "_Sahwa'kayah... _Entirely well," she clarified, just in case her choice of words had been utterly wrong for what she was trying to say.

Nawid seemed somewhat humbled by her (poor) attempt to speak his language. With a light blush on his cheeks, he grunted out, "Glad I. _Na, gahlat' an... _um, mean I that: I am pleased."

She smiled. Nawid didn't need to apologise - she wouldn't judge him for making mistakes if he returned the favour in kind.

If anything, it brought back fond memories of Petra.

_I must speak with Ashe, _ she remembered guiltily. _Hopefully, Sir Nera will have had that 'chat' with him by now._

"Would you like some tea?" Byleth finally asked, looking between the pair. "It might warm you up a bit."

The pair looked at one another, uncertainly.

"Only if our king does not object, Your Grace," the Fódlean one answered for them both.

"What was your name?"

"Wallace, Your Grace."

"Wallace, Nawid - are you both fine with chamomile?"


	6. Valleys of the Mind

**Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.**

**Be advised that the central plot of this story focuses on adultery. I completely respect that this is not for everyone. If you find any of these subject matters uncomfortable or upsetting please don't read.**

* * *

**Valleys of the Mind**

_Twentieth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188._

Byleth was on tenterhooks.

She did not doubt that Claude could make her plan work; it was whether he _wanted to _that concerned her. His hostility towards the idea of her leading the feint from the front was hardly going to melt away after one argument.

Byleth had the utmost faith in his ability to come up with a ploy to compliment the manoeuvre. After all, her inspiration for her idea had actually come from the Battle of the Manuchar Folk, one of his triumphs.

She had been in Almya for diplomacy's sake when Mastahfar, Claude's exiled half-brother, launched his final bid for power.

Tales of the Wars of Succession had filtered over the Throat and into Fódlanat the time. However, at the time neither Byleth nor Dimitri had been aware that the _'xsahzahde' _, that had reappeared to put down the uprisings led by wayward sons, nephews and cousins of the ' _xsah' _, was none other than Claude.

Mastahfar was the last to be defeated, so she had heard. After killing two of three younger brothers and attempting to overthrow his father, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the surprise return of his last remaining brother. Though the custom punishment for an insubordinate prince was strangulation, Khalid had shown leniency by exiling him to the far east.

But even then he knew Mastahfar would be back.

_"For as long as he lives, he'll keep coming back. All because he can't resist the urge to finish me. So, I'll use that against him. If I don't more people will die."_

Claude had resolved to end the cycle of violence and succeeded as far as one could in Almyra.

Now, Byleth was working on the same principle. This enemy hated _her_. When she gained the powers of a goddess Solon had been terrified of her, Cornelia had taunted her, and Thales had tried to kill her by throwing her into the Oghma Canyon.

Each one of them despised her for what she was - the reincarnation of Sothis.

Furthermore, it was clear they weren't parroting Edlegard's personal hatred for the Church. Though they had seemed to support her goal to build a new hegemony, these Dark Mages had been quick to abandon her once it became clear Dimitri would win the war.

Their struggle went beyond border disputes. This current war _should _have ended with the death of Jakob von Bergliez. _He _was the (supposed) instigator of the southern rebellion. _He _was the invader of Gloucester territory. Without this figurehead Edelgard's former 'Elite Historians and Sorcerers' should have surrendered unto the mercy of the Archbishop.

Instead, they had abandoned Jakob's gangrenous corpse and kept on fighting, instigating a surprise attack that almost - no, _d_ _id - _get Claude killed. Byleth had managed to save him with her Divine Pulse but the memory of that turmoil still lingered.

_I'll put an end to them._

After brewing some tea, Byleth began setting the stage for her vision. Lump in her throat, she avoided his gaze as she laid out the scenario. It was strange to be caught beneath his watchful eyes, as if _he _had once been the teacher and she the student.

As she placed the last token upon the map, Claude snorted to himself. "It's like we're preparing for a game of _chatrang _."

_Almyran Chess... _

"If only it were just a game," said Byleth.

Claude sat opposite her, spinning his cup slowly in its saucer.

"What've we got here then?"

It was a map of the Gwalchmei Ravine, a deep, rocky defile that lay between the Bergliez territory in the west and the old Hrym domain in the east.

Byleth took a cautious sip from her teacup before beginning her lecture.

"Do you recognise the area?"

"Of course," Claude responded. "This is the same map we looked at the other night."

Their victory at Gwalchmai's Mouth: it was hard to believe that a single sun had arched across the sky since then. It would be best to strike while the iron was hot, especially since they had their' working hypothesis' of where the enemy was.

"Based on Cyril and Ashe's reports and your estimations about them using the caves, this is their approximate location."

Her index finger rested on a cluster of such caves that lay between their current position near Lake Awen and the nearest settlement, Ernest Village.

"It's where we lost them after the last fight so I can't think of anywhere else they might be," Claude reasoned. "Aliprand made no mention of them turning up at Ernest, did he?"

She shook her head.

Gwalchmai Ravine was tight, barely big enough for two-by-two to walk through at its narrowest. Painfully claustrophobic, the cliff face was a sheer 500-foot drop into the crushing fissure. At its widest point, it was too crag-like to climb, and the alcoves seemed alike to hare warrens, ranging from wide-cave openings to perilous-foot-sized holes.

On reflection, there really was only one place they could be lurking.

"If they couldn't turn back, go forth or ahead up, that only leaves side-ways," he concluded.

"I think the best place to entrap them is here."

Byleth's thumb tapped the aforementioned narrowest part. It had caught her eye at first because it lacked any cavities for these mole-like foes to retreat to, and held her gaze when it dawned on her how its narrowness could put them in a vulnerable position.

"The further we draw them into the ravine, the harder it will be for them to use their magic," she explained.

"It'll be hard for anyone to do anything," Claude grumbled.

"Yet if we can crush them between our forces in the-"

She was distracted by him taking a mouthful of tea and burning his tongue in the process.

"That wasn't very clever of you," Byleth scolded.

"And I wish this was wine instead of tea. This would all sound much better if I was drunk."

She scowled.

"Our armies can't stay here forever, you know that."

"True."

"If we turn back and try to go over the ravine, we'll lose track of them or risk them ambushing _us, _like in Miach Forest."

"Agreed."

"The only way forward is to go... forward."

"Doubtless."

Byleth's mouth opened and closed. He _agreed _ with her, then.

"We want to hit these guys at the gorge," remarked Claude. "You'll still need a trick to get them there, though, right? To trap them between our main forces and the Blade Breakers stationed at Ernest Village."

_Exactly. " _Any thoughts?"

Suddenly, Claude reached forward and grabbed a token carved in the shape of the Immaculate One, the one Byleth used to symbolise her battalion. Clearing his throat, he had glumly set the token down opposite the one supposed to represent the opposition.

"First thing that springs to mind is that no matter _how _we get them into that position, you will also be trapped in that gorge."

She didn't argue with him.

"We will be two-by-two, it's true," she conceded. "But so will they."

There would be nowhere for the foe to escape. If Byleth pulled this off, their opponents would be trapped between infantry in the west and her father's mercenary company to the east. If she could hold her position long enough for help to arrive, their foes would have nowhere to run.

"They'll be reluctant to use magic in such a confined space and what little they use I'll hold at bay until relief comes," Byleth continued, taking her token from his hands. "With my Goddess shield."

Claude leaned on his hands, brooding.

"I think I might hate this idea _more_ than I did before."

"You don't think I can hold them?"

"Ugh, don't try the whole _'don't you believe in me?' _thing!" he rebuked, caricaturing her tone. "You know that's not the point. "

"Aren't high-risk strategies your speciality?"

"It's different when I'm gambling with _my _life, By. If it goes wrong, I don't have to live with the consequences."

Knowing what had happened that day in Miach Forest, Byleth was less than amused by her paramour's blasé words.

"You shouldn't joke about that," she scolded.

He seemed to realise he had touched a nerve.

"Calm down, I have no intention of dying."

Byleth's eyes narrowed.

"Neither do I."

Reaching for her teacup, she gazed at him over the rim.

Claude's thoughts could be a dangerous place to tread; a never-quieting pot of unruly schemes simmering away atop the fires of his brain. Byleth never ceased to be impressed by how he made puzzling out his enemy's likely movements look like a game. From elaborate disguises to carefully placed toxic barrels or fire traps, nothing was off-limits. In truth, she loved how _dastardly _Claude could be sometimes. H e brought out the daredevil lurking inside her, inspiring her to enact plans that otherwise would have remained outlandish musings rather than genuine tactics for a battle. Her crest-stone always seemed to 'hum' more intensely when Claude invited her to tip-toe through those wild valleys of his mind.

A part of her felt guilty for enjoying it.

She remembered the night after the Battle of Derdriu, the one before Claude left for the east.

_"I could never have done what you did today," _Dimitri concluded, placing his goblet down having barely taken a sip all evening.

_"I'm sure you wouldn't," _Claude agreed, _swirling his cup of spiced-red wine as he considered his response. "Like I said before, we're cut from different cloths. I admire your straightforwardness; it's part of your charm. But it makes you dangerously predictable, Your Kingliness."_

Dimitri had irked at that.

_"Predictable, you say?"_

_"Uh-huh. _Y _ou could stand to be a tad more underhanded in your upcoming battles. Lord knows Edelgard won't play fair if the chips are down."_

_"Edelgard certainly hasn't played fair in our previous battles," _Dimitri acknowledged. _"But I must rise above her deceit, not lower myself to it."_

_"You don't have to be deceitful, just... experimental," _Claude urged. _"Don't just think outside the box, think beyond its boundaries."_

_"Ha! Fine words, Claude. Almost philosophic. Nevertheless, I fear your methods are not for me. I cannot deny they have served you well, though, I query what can be credited to your intelligence and what to dumb luck."_

Claude threw his head back and laughed.

_"Sometimes, you have to make your own luck, Dimitri. Seizing an advantage over the enemy is key for any strategist; identifying an opportunity before it happens takes a mastermind." _

Dimitri cocked an eyebrow. _"Modesty, thy name is Claude, eh?"_

_"I know what I want to achieve," _Claude defended. _"A clear purpose that I cling to. It's what's always pushed me forward. So, I try to harness that to find the most effective path to achieve those goals."_

His eyes had settled on Byleth.

_"Do you see what I'm talking about, Teach?"_

Oh, how his impish smile and green-orbs filled with mischief unnerved her! Yet there was something else hidden behind them at that moment.

A sadness.

_"There is merit in unpredictability," _ she said cooly.

Claude took a 'victory sip' of wine.

_"I'll take that as tacit agreement," _he nodded, turning back to Dimitri. _"You'll be fine as long as you have Teach. She'll lead you to victory, kicking and screaming if she has to."_

Byleth had blushed.

_"Ha! What a lark you are, Claude!" _ Dimitri had chuckled.

_"A lark, am I?" _ Claude smirked, sights squarely on Dimitri. _"Hm, not a mockingbird, or a cuckoo?"_

_" A queer mix of the three, maybe."_

_"I shall drink to that, my friend," _and Claude raised his cup for the mock toast. _"M ay my unpredictability carry me forth beyond Fódlan's borders."_

Dimitri beamed, raising his goblet.

_"Good luck, Claude."_

Byleth's glass felt heavy in her hands. Instead of drinking with the two men, her gaze had fallen to the abyss of her wine.

_Red as blood, red as the scorching I feel inside. _

Even then, Claude evoked powerful emotions within her, lurching like a beast trying to break out. He elicited a powerful force inside her akin to fear, to so she thought: the rush in her arteries, and knotting tension in her stomach.

It was fight or flight, the most base instinct of a mercenary.

She hated him for leaving them now but couldn't bear confronting him on it. The thought of 'fighting' filled her with dread. 'Fighting' would mean asking him to stay a little longer, a request she knew would be ignored.

S o, she wouldn't even waste her breath.

_What if I had? _Byleth had wondered since. _And what if I had realised what those sensations I felt really were._

Unfortunately, she didn't fully understand 'passion' until she finally gave into it.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Claude picked up an enemy token and twiddled it between his fingers.

"So, have you come to terms with what we must do?" Byleth asked at last.

"I am willing to _entertain _it," Claude declared cautiously. "Provided I can conceive a suitable plot to go with it. Just let me sit here and think it over_..._"

A pause.

"Drink your tea and have a lie-down."

"Huh?"

"Unless you fancy gawking at me while I work," he asked archly.

That earned her smile. "Well, you're a pretty sight."

"Ha, thank you - though I'd probably feel like I was back at school again. Y'know, having my work assessed."

Byleth relented.

"Let me know if you need help."

He snorted, "That's very 'Teachy', too."

Rolling her eyes, she turned back towards the sofa. Her eyes fell upon the small tincture that Claude had bought her sitting on the bedside table.

_No point in waiting._

Though she appreciated Claude's time and efforts in procuring her a contraceptive, it was little more than a bitter-tasting reminder that her goddesshood came at a price she could never have anticipated.

From their wedding night, Dimitri had been frank about the fact that they had a duty to produce an heir.

_"Though there is no rush," _he had assured her quickly. _"Not if you aren't ready."_

Byleth didn't actively _seek _to have a child but she did nothing to prevent it, either. She could tell that Dimitri was anxious to start a family - and a part of her had (perhaps foolishly) hoped that such a blessing would go a long way to helping him heal, to move away from the ghosts of his past and begin to look forward.

Therefore, she had decided to allow nature to take its course.

Shortly after their marriage, Byleth and Dimitri had made a Royal Progress through Fódlan in celebration of their marriage and the end of the war. The novelty of seeing the King and Archbishop make a 'Joyous Entry' together, fliting from town-to-city with religious pomp and Faerghusian pageantry drew more massive crowds than any Emperor, King or Sovereign Duke had ever savoured during the centuries of division.

It had been busy work. Byleth had liked meeting the ordinary people but had not enjoyed the event overall.

_Who'd have thought I would miss battle? _

Months of travelling and tirelessly greeting the gentry of the land had not been her cup of sweet apple tea.

The days had been mentally exhausting, and the nights were not particularly restful either.

_We had a duty, after all. _

Night after night, Dimitri got to work. As he did, he poured adorations into her ear: of how glorious she looked, how _perfect_, how _divine, _of how much he idolised her. It should have been lovely to hear but even then she felt so absent.

A few more months went by and no pregnancy.

They returned to Fhirdiad and the relentless trying continued. Still nothing. Trying, trying, trying to the point of nausea, and not so much as a false alarm. Nothing.

In the end, she had asked Rhea plainly.

_"I can't bear children, can I?"_

Her predecessor failed to give her a straight answer.

_"Only time will tell whether you will bring forth the neo-Nabatea," _she had told Byleth, cupping her cheeks with cold hands. _"The circumstances of your own birth were quite... unique."_

_"I know."_

She had Sothis's heart, which has also been her mother's, Sitri's, heart.

_"I cannot promise that you will ever conceive, though that does not sadden me," _Rhea confessed guiltily. _"Childbirth is dangerous. Losing Sitri was almost more than I could bear. The thought of losing you too-!"_

She had all most crumpled to the floor in grief. Yet even after Rhea's stark reminder of her mother's ultimate sacrifice, Byleth still hoped for a miracle to bless her. Not for Dimitri's sake; she wanted it for herself.

_I wonder what a child of mine and Claude's would look like?_

Byleth downed Claude's potion in one, quick gulp, removing the already slim chance she had of finding out the answer to that question.

Settling down on the sofa, Byleth watched Claude. Her eyes felt suddenly heavy though she tried to stay awake. Each time she opened her eyes, she saw the same image: Claude hunched over the map, rubbing his eyes as though to do so would redraw the lines on the paper, and tapping his temple as if he could knock a better idea out of it if he tried hard enough. Her last image of him hunched over her little table, brow creased in thought when her eyes closed for the last time that night.

Byleth wasn't a heavy sleeper, so dreams often lingered on the tip of her brain when she woke. Most were inoffensive, some were horrific. Nightmares as vivid as the waking world. Her crested heart showed her the sickening events of the past.

_"It's just night-terrors, kid," _her father would assure her when she was a child struggling to make sense of them.

The visions could be jarring, confusing, or downright terrifying.

It was in those revelations she saw another world never witnessed by her own eyes; time out of mind, ancient beyond memory.

It started peacefully. Thousands of humans and hundreds of human-like beings with the same green hair and eyes of Seteth, Flayn, Rhea, and herself would be living peacefully in a city made of marble, grander than anything standing in Fódlan today.

Then _they _would come.

Thirteen enemies wielding Holy Relics. They hacked their weapons into the flesh of the people, slaughtering them as though they were beasts rather than people.

Then came the yellow-eyed bare-chested berserker, their leader, _Nemesis, _he murdered dozens without mercy with a single swing of the Sword of the Creator.

Pure butchery.

A few of the Nabateans transformed into beasts before they were slaughtered. It was different from the corruption of Miklan Gautier's body, where the Lance of Ruin turned him into a black monster. These people transformed at will. The hearts at their centres would glow green, green as their blood and then ... they were dragons. Each different, horrifying and beautiful. Winged- and grounded-wyverns, birds, griffons and wyrms. Powers of Earth, Water, Wind and Flame. Auras of Light and Dark, the Moon and the Stars. They fought with everything they had, for their very lives, trying to shield those who had maintained a humanoid form.

They always lost.

Piece by piece the King of Liberation and his Elites picked away at their scales, leaving nothing behind but corpses defiled and ruined, left to be picked apart by carrion birds.

That was when Dark Mages emerged from the shadows. Unnaturally pale and proud, they spat upon the flesh and peeled away the bones of the people; plunged their hands into the concave of their chests to rip out their orbed hearts. They broke apart the flesh of those beasts, ripped out their bones, wrenched the orbs from their heads and—

She almost awoke in horror, but the dream shifted. Echoes from another lifetime gave way to current entanglements. Horrors Byleth had witnessed with her own eyes.

In place of the Nabateans, now she saw the dead from her own lifetime. All the people she failed to save with her gift: her father murdered; Ferdinand bleeding to death from Areadbhar's sting; the stench of burnt flesh when Benedetta, Petra and Raphael perished on Gronder Field; and so many more lives were lost or unaccounted for.

Then, she remembered the people she had 'reanimated', restored to life from countless forgotten timelines.

Each one was as vivid as when it happened, only now the deaths were all happening at once and t oo fast for her to help...

Ashe scorched alive by an Imperial Mage; Felix slashed by an axe from above; Annette crouching in a field as the light faded from her eyes; Ingrid and her pegasus shot out of the sky; Mercedes all but beheaded by a killing edge. Then there was Dedue. Were it not for her power, poor Dedue would be little more than a pin-cushion of arrows from the many times he had been willing to give his life for Dimitri.

Dimitri. He should have died more than any of them. Even in his best state of mind, he was not cautious with his own life and well-being, never mind when he was obsessed with defeating his foe. Byleth had outright _exhausted _her power and herself to keep Dimitri alive on Gronder Field - leaving nothing left to save Rodrigue. Another martyr for the pyre, just like that pitiful girl he had died to stop.

Flashes of them all rushed through her head until Byleth was back in that cancelled reality, in Miach Forest, the Afanc Falls crashing in the distance, the scent of flesh smoking and blood growing stale filled her nostrils.

She saw Claude's heart pierced all over again.

Everything seemed to slow down, a s though the lance that pierced Claude's heart had ripped Byleth's own from the cavity of her chest. She relived the agony all over again; how she wanted to crumple into a ball, screech, weep and rend the world, time and space apart to undo it.

That was when she noticed the glowing redpoint of the weapon that had slain him.

It was different from her memories.

Her blood ran cold.

As her lover fell, instead of an enemy who lurked in the umbra, she saw her husband. Dimitri smirked dementedly, staring maniacally at Areadbhar dripping crimson–

Byleth awoke with a gag.

Her eyes were dark with haze and the left side of her head pounding but she was back in the present.

_"It's just night-terrors, kid."_

Recalling her father's reassurance did nothing to settle her stomach.

Her chest hummed frantically as she realised she was going to throw-up.

With the sickness rising in her throat and vision blurry, Byleth stumbled over to where the basin stood. Cradling the edge and crouched painfully over the bowl, she waited for the inevitable. The first bout hit her: bile and the mass amounts of tea she had consumed before bed.

Then she couldn't stop.

Whimpering between retches, it felt like it would never end.

A hand gently brushed the hair from her face, holding it back. She jerked at the subtle touch, unable to turn towards its origin-

"Are you okay there?"

The timbre of Claude's voice calmed her.

Though Byleth had known it had all been a nightmare, relief still coursed through her. _It's just night-terrors, kid, _ she reminded herself.

Still, she wanted to throw her arms around him, to tell him what she saw but-

_I've never told him what happened. _

Besides, she couldn't move from her position. Her body was caught in a rapture that she couldn't cease no matter how she tried. It was undignified enough to be caught hurling into a bedpan, let alone to be such a muddle to need someone to hold her hair back for her.

And Claude of all people!

"Don't hold back on my account," he spoke softly, sensing her trying to fight her body's urges. "Better out than in."

She just nodded weakly, not wanting to speak.

They just stayed like that for a while, until at last Byleth's stomach settled.

A few deep breaths and she raised her head.

"Thank you."

Claude helped her to sit on the edge of her bed.

"I'll get you some water."

He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Byleth croaked.

"Yeah?"

"Am I... decent?"

A snort of laugher escaped him.

"You're decent. No tongues will wag for another day."

His words were so ironical, she gulped. He knew as well as Byleth did staying in her tent all night was going to raise a few eyebrows even though he spent most of it crouched over a map in full view of the guards.

Hopefully, no one would guess that they had sex before that.

Remembering it made Byleth feel dizzy. To keep her grounded, she listened as Claude's steps retreated. Then, she focused on the gentle flap of the pavilion's walls and the sloshes of liquid being ladled into the cup.

Claude returned with the water and a companion on his tail.

"Lady Byleth!" the hapless Gatekeeper squeaked. "Claude-m, His Royal Highness reported you're unwell! Should I get a healer? A doctor? Lorenz knows some white magic, doesn't he? Lysithea? Gosh, I wish Mercedes or Flayn were here-!"

"I'm fine, Gatward," Byleth cut in, eying the cup in Claude's hand wantonly.

The Gatekeeper glanced at Claude cautiously.

"You haven't got her to drink anything moody, too, have you?"

Claude chortled, saying nothing. Finally, he handed the cup of water to Byleth.

"I had a bad dream," she explained. "A nightmare."

"Oof, that's rough. Are you sure that's all?"

"I am. Are _you _all right?"

"Your Grace?"

"After His Highness's... trick?"

The Gatekeeper's cheeks pinkened beneath his helm.

"Uh, um, yes."

Byleth understood his embarrassment. He was the lookout-on-duty for his Archbishop yet had been easily drugged and bypassed by Claude. On reflection, it was baffling how easy he had managed to gain access to her tent! Though his 'security-check' had been an excuse to justify visiting her personal quarters late at night, it did highlight a genuine gap in her defences.

_One I won't get away with exploiting next time. _Eying her bed, Byleth knew it would take a more extraordinary feat to arrange another tryst there again any time soon. _We'll be back to the woods, the lakeside, and the command tent..._

"No hard feelings, I hope?" Claude asked Gatward.

The Gatekeeper's lips pursed.

"Well actually, I-"

"Go and get your breakfast, Gatward," Byleth cut in. "Your relief will be here soon."

He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Um, do I deserve relief. And breakfast? I _did _fall asleep at my post after all."

Byleth nodded, "I trust you learned a lesson last night."

"Yeah, don't drink from Claude's waterskin!" he answered immediately.

Claude simpered.

"Agh! I mean _His Royal Highness _. Goddess, why do I keep forgetting?!"

"No sweat," the Almyran king shrugged. "I have more titles than I can remember anyway. His Excellency. His Royal Highness. _Shah _. King. _Xsahxsahran _. Even I don't know which one is supposed to be used when."

"That aside," Byleth cut in again, "You can think about it over breakfast, Gatward."

He humbly lowered his head.

"You're very kind, Prof-Your Grace."

They watched him silently as he turned to leave, closing the entrance behind him.

Kneeling before Byleth, Claude asked his earlier question again, "Are you okay?"

Byleth nodded, even though she wasn't.

"By, are you lying?"

"No."

_"By."_

"I feel gross."

"Uh-huh?"

"And mortified you saw me throw-up."

"Hey, if you're sick, you're sick."

"Rather destroys the 'feminine mystique', though."

"If you say so," he sighed in resignation. "Frankly, I'm too worried about you to care."

Brushing Byleth's fringe back into place, he felt her forehead.

"Hm, you don't have a fever," he continued, hands moving to dab her cheeks. "D'you feel any pain? Do you see spots?"

"Spots? Pain...?" she considered, rubbing the side of her head. It had been a little sore before but seemed fine now. "I don't think so."

Claude's fingers traced down her temple, tucking more hair behind her ear.

"So, you really did have another bad dream?"

Byleth nodded slowly.

She knew what his next question would be before he said it:

"What was it about?"

He had witnessed her awakening from one or two nightmares in the past. They had stumbled upon each other many times during restless nights: around the grounds of Garreg Mach, the gardens of _Ansah'hakulah_ in Almya, or the fire of this camp, they had bumped into each other many times and complained of their restlessness.

"It was... many things."

Byleth didn't want to go into the details. To do so would force her to remember that awful sight of him stabbed, bleeding and then dead. Of how Dimitri's image had infiltrated those already sickening memories, warping and twisting them like a bad joke...

"Of battles," she muttered reluctantly. "Of people dying. The things that I 've-that I've seen. That others haven't had to see."

He continued to stroke her hair.

"It was just a dream, By."

"That's what Dad used to say."

"A wise guy, that Jeralt."

Byleth took another sip of water.

"Here, you should lie down," Claude said and helped her get to her feet and shuffle towards her bed. "You might feel better if you sleep on your actual bed rather than a couch."

As she rested her head upon the pillows.

"What time is it?" Byleth asked.

"Nearly six," Claude replied in a raspy whisper. He lingered hesitantly before adding, "I'd better be going."

_I wish you didn't have to. _

Byleth still felt mild sickness, but his soft caresses had a calming effect. Claude's presence was a comfort, the hideous visions of his death counterpointed against his warm touch as it tried to soothe her. For the most part, at least.

She stared up at the canopy.

"Did you come up with an idea that'll make my idea work?"

He released a reluctant sigh.

"I think so."

She wanted to say how impressed she was. Even an 'I think so' was extraordinary, given Claude's resistance to the idea five hours ago. But then he placed his hand on her forehead, drawing her attention up.

Claude tilted his head sweetly. "You look awful."

Byleth glowered.

"Thanks."

"Aw, only teasing," and he tapped her nose mischievously. "You can't complain because we agreed. _Shah'maht. _"

"Checkmate, indeed," she conceded.

He kissed her crown, and she remembered what she had wanted to say.

"I'm surprised that you've turned my idea around so quickly."

"Oh, what faith you have in me!" Claude quipped with a faux offence. Yet his smile was endearingly sweet, almost boyish. He sat on the bed beside her. "I like to be near you. You have a… contrarian effect on me. You excite me one minute and calm me the next."

"I know what you mean," Byleth confessed, finding his hand. "I wish we could be together more often. Like now..." Coyly, she glanced away. "And last night."

He chuckled, but his voice cracked with a hidden sadness.

"So do I."

There were times when Byleth was tempted to use her gifts bequeathed to her by the Goddess for utterly selfish reasons: to remain in certain moments longer - or repeat them over and over. She had never done it but the guilt from even considering it stung her. The misuse of power would probably infuriate Sothis. She could hear her child-like, grouchy grandmother's voice admonishing her now:

_'Think of the damage you would do to __**our **__health! And for what, making out with your boyfriend?!"_

Claude leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I'll see you later."

"Wait!" she croaked. Her arms encircled Claude's shoulders to hold him there. "What about the plan?"

"Later," Claude told her. "Try and get some more sleep, _eshtahre'uyla-mi _."

He attempted to pull back, but she held on.

"Will _you _sleep?"

He snorted, "I'll try."

Byleth would have kissed him but for the sickness still lingering on her lips.

So, she released him and spoke one of the few Almyran phrases she felt confident saying, having heard him say it to her many times.

_"Zusta'dara, deldahr-mi." _

Claude gave her forehead one last kiss before exiting her quarters.

He was gone.

Taking a deep breath, Byleth rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. His scent still lingered from there: that warm, pure and robust savour of a man mixed with those that she exclusively associated with Claude. Earthy and herbaceous, it tempered the sickly feeling that lingered in her body and mind.

Eyes closed, she tried to let it wash over her and lull her into sleep.

Yet that awful dream still troubled her.

The image of Dimitri smirking as he felled Claude had clearly been her brain warping a memory, but why she saw it troubled her.

_Maybe my guilt is finally catching up with me, _ she considered. _Perhaps my brain is punishing me for my faithlessness._

Byleth cared for Dimitri. She wanted to protect him, to see him safe and at peace, freed from the ghosts that had tormented him.

Her promise to Rodrigue still resounded with her.

_"Professor... I entrust the young prince, and the future of Faerghus, to you."_

Even then, a part of her had bulked at the Duke of Fraldraius's request.

_"This is unexpected…"_

He had apologised for his dramatic comments but extracted the vow from her. She felt a duty of care to Dimitri, unlike anything she felt for another student. Whether it was pity, love or fear of what he might do next, she gave her word and assured Rodrigue that she would not let him down.

_"You're a brave one, aren't you? One worthy of leading the Church of Seiros, I daresay. I'll not ask you to take back Fhirdiad. All I ask is that you continue to rein in Dimitri's manic desire for revenge."_

That was an easier promise to make.

Byleth lived in fear of the darker days when his mood wouldn't lift. Once he finally began to make peace with the past, it had felt a weight was slowly lifting from her shoulders. Seeing him smile felt like a grand triumph.

Like she had _achieved _ something impossible. She thought that was love - to be needed by someone, to brighten up their day whether it is through a bunch of flowers or a well-crafted piece of advice, and to be wanted.

The initial grain of doubt had been there since their first night together. It had been enjoyable and listening to the sincere confessions of how long he needed her, admired her, and adored her had been endearing. Yet it hadn't felt like something she truly wanted. It was hard to express what it was wrong, especially since emotions had always been hard for her to decipher.

So, she had closed her eyes and tried to process her confusion as her husband was sprawled atop her, catching his breath and trying to find his own words.

_Beneath it all, I'm a terrible person _, Byleth determined.

That was her last thought before she fell asleep again.

When she next opened her eyes to a brighter light surrounding her. Thankfully her mind was not plagued by another nightmare, though she didn't feel rested either. Instead m emories of lying half-awake had dominated the hours that had passed as she lay there, cradling that pillow in her arms.

Disappointingly, it smelled less like Claude now.

Byleth opted to clear out the bowl. Hauling herself to her feet and sliding her boots on, she discreetly covered the offending container with a towel and pattered outside.

The relief guards - a soldier and a non-military nun - followed four steps behind her as she made her way to the black and greywater points.

Pots and pans were being cleaned nearby as she claimed a bucket filled with fresh water before emptying the pan.

Eyeing her sceptically, Pansy, the nun, spoke up.

"Should I take care of this for you, Your Grace?"

The nuns often 'took care' of this sort of business whether Byleth wanted them to or not. It was something she still hadn't got used to since becoming Archbishop after a lifetime of taking care of her own affairs.

Byleth just gave her a smile and carried on.

Once the unpleasant business was done, Hal the guard grabbed the dirty water to dispose of it for her - without asking - while Pansy took the now-clean bowl from her Lady.

"I'll help you dress for the morning," she declared. "Then wash your nightdress and bedclothes."

"There's no need."

"You have the next battle to focus on," the young woman insisted. "Allow me to serve you like the honour that it is."

Byleth suppressed a smirk - the idea of it being 'an honour' to do her laundry and clear out her bedpan was bizarre.

"Leave my bedclothes," she ordered. Byleth didn't want them touched until she had... checked them.

"If you insist, Your Grace."

As they made their way back and the camp started to awaken, Byleth noticed someone lingering outside her tent.

Ashe stood by the entrance, looking like a lost child.

_He's come to see me about Sir Nera _, Byleth imagined.

When he finally spotted her approaching, he looked quite distressed.

"What's wrong?!" she gasped, instantly concerned.

"Lady Byleth!" he squeaked. "Forgive me. Is now a bad time?"

Now was as good a time as any to talk.

"No, of course not," she assured him, sweeping past him to go inside. "Come in. I presume you're here to talk about Nera?"

Perhaps Byleth could even sound him out for hers and Claude's decision for him to be among the party to liaise with the Blade Breakers at Ernest Village.

Ashe did not follow.

"Ashe?"

The young archer's gaze fell to the ground, cheeks reddening.

"Um, you're still in your... night-attire."

Byleth hadn't even thought about it.

"Oh," was all she said.

In her defence, she had her heavy dressing-gown on to cover the less modest nightie beneath.

The nun giggled, clearly finding Ashe's bashfulness endearing. While most of her church-followers would have agreed with his sentiment on principle, the nuns who attended her - like Pansy and all the other flowers: Violet, Astar and Fern - had conceded that her day-wear weren't precisely 'conservative'.

"Very well. I'll get changed," Byleth decided and turned to her attendant. "Pansy, could you make Ashe some tea while I dress?"

Pansy curtsied cheerfully.

"At once, Your Grace!"


End file.
